Disappear Here
by Yvearia
Summary: On Temp Hiatus till 9/13 A/U Set after series four. "I'm in the wrong house. I'm in the wrong room. Someplace in someone elses shoes." What's going on in the lives of George, Mitchell, Annie and Nina? Everything seems to be fine... if you squint. But there's something... Sooner or later it all comes crumbling down. A/M, some G/N. M for language and sexual content in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This will be slow going. So, to start, I'm a fan of both worlds (UK & US). This is my first Being Human fic, and I live in Texas and don't know many people from Britain, so if I fudge the dialect, please feel free to correct me and offer up advice. This is un-betta'ed, as have been all of my stories, so I own all of my mistakes. I do not, however, own, in any way, shape or form the rights to Being Human UK (or US, for that matter). I mean in no way to profit from this fan fiction's publication.

Thank you, in advance for your interest in this little story. Like I said, slow going, so I hate to promise regular updates. I'm also struggling through a bit of writer's block with my current Firefly fanfic, so... please be patient.

Much Love to you all, whether you are reading my stories for the first time, or are returning graciously. Without further delay...  
Yve

* * *

Sherwood, OR, USA

Mitchell pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes as he stepped out of work and so out of the pleasant shade the building provided from the late afternoon sun. He was aching for a fag, though he knew he hadn't any with him thanks to the cursed campus regulations. Still, he patted down his pockets as he headed for his space in the car park, knowing full well he'd have to wait till he got to the flat to feed that particular addiction. The fall chilled the air as he pushed his long hair out of his face, no longer pulled back with his hair tie now that he was off work for the long weekend.

"Mr. Turner!"

He stopped just steps short of reaching his Harley Softail as he heard the shrill, young shout from behind him. He turned and squinted against the sun to identify the owner of the small voice.

"Mr. Turner," the girl panted as she approached the older man who held onto his leather satchel like it was a life raft in a treacherous body of water. "_The Devil and Tom Walker_." She thrust a few neatly typed pages at him in haste.

"Sorry?" Mitchell said, shaking his head lightly to clear it.

"Extra credit. I just wanted," she paused to gulp in a breath, "to make sure I was counted for the assignment before you left for the weekend… out of town, or… wherever it is you're going."

"Oh, you could'a left this on my desktop, darlin'. Won't be putting in marks for this 'till end of next week."

"Well, it'll give me a head start on reading _The Dubliner_," Becca smiled shyly back at her English Lit teacher.

"Joyce? I'd be guessing that's your independent reading, then? Plenty of folks'd still have a teacher thrashed for leading a student astray with _The Dubliner_." The young girl tilted her head to the side as if in question and it prompted Mitchell to decide that the conversation had quite gone on long enough. "Have a nice holiday, Becky," he wished as he seated himself astride his bike and started easing out of his parking space.

Mitchell paid extra each month on the flat so that he and his mate, George, could stow the bike and various other odds about in the garage on the lower floor of their unit. The garage door locked behind him, he made his way up to the first floor. It was an old Victorian house that had been converted into separate apartments. Mitchell and George rented out the first unit while their landlord occupied the top floor. There was also an attic apartment, but it remained vacant.

With only a vague thought as to how George would be displeased, Mitchel dropped his satchel on the floor promptly upon entering. Next were his boots. He hopped awkwardly on one foot and then the other as he struggled out of them, leaving them in a heap near his discarded bag. Having forgotten to drop by the shop on his way home, he rummaged around the bookshelf behind one of George's seldom-used Mandarin Dictionaries. His emergency pack – and it was only a quarter full.

He sometimes thought he would never get used to not being allowed a smoke between classes. He'd been teaching for… well, for long enough to have gotten over the sodding fact by now, you would think. He'd also had to retire all of his illustrated tee shirts to the back of his closet in favor of solid tees and cardigans, or a blazer when the infrequent formal occasion called for.

Shrugging out of his _Mr. Rogers_ sweater, Mitchell took his cigarette and his mobile to the back door and went to sit on the little garden wall. As he perched and began to light his smoke, his mobile buzzed from where it rested on the brick next to him. It was George:

_George Russell: call me when u can. need to talk about dinner._

Shaking his head and exhaling the warm smoke, he picked the phone up and dialed George.

"I was thinking of a curry tonight," George said without preamble. "Only a real Indian curry, with plump mussels, garlic and coriander naan. Oh and wine. That nice bottle of Margerum Syrah that Annie gave us when we moved in."

"That'll be good, since Annie'll probably be here for dinner…" Mitchell tried warning his friend gently.

"Oh, no, she won't, mate."

"She won't?"

"No, no. Annie will be joining you for a night out this evening."

"Then who's goin' to be eatin' this _proper curry_ you're so keen on making?" Mitchell stood abruptly as he ashed the cherry of his fag down the front of his jeans.

* * *

"Nock, nock?"

Mitchell heard the front door creak open from the kitchen where he stood, cursing George and turning the kettle on.

"Old spinster, Miss Rath, has come to collect your rent," she spoke in an old woman's voice, only partially able to hide her signature, sing-song tone.

"And to have a biscuit?" He called around the corner at her.

"And to have a biscuit," she affirmed with a smile on her face. "And... tea. Lord help you, Mitchell. Let me make the tea," Annie instructed as she took in the sight of Mitchell preparing to do just that.

"When you put it that way..."

"Yeah, yeah. Sit down and prop ya boots up. We'll have a cup'a. When's George due?"

"Ah, later," Mitchell said and gave Annie a peck on the cheek as he passed her, heading for the small kitchen set.

"Then he shall have his cup later," she said, pulling down only two mugs.

It was bordering on criminal offense to turn down tea made by Annie. For that matter it was nearly capital murder to insist on making tea for yourself when Annie was about. That was why it had become an afternoon ritual of Annie and Mitchell to meet in his kitchen for tea every day. George found it quite annoying at first, screeching that, "She's _always _in our bloody flat!" when she finally went back upstairs in the evenings. He had finally come to accept her presence as part of their reality, though, after only... well, not terribly long after they had moved in.

"Why d'you always dress like that?" It was a bit out of the blue and Annie nearly spilled the milk as she turned to Mitchell in surprise.

"Sorry? Like what?"

Mitchell swept his eyes over her once more, searching for the best way of describing her style of dress. "Like, well, not like a spinster landlady." It was vague but it was the best he could come up with.

Today she was wearing a nice pair of grey denim trousers with a deep plumb colored sweater and brown leather heels (though, those were now in a heap in front of the pantry). She shuffled, barefoot, over to the table where her tenant was seated.

"And how should I dress instead?" she asked with raised brow.

"Uh, that's a trick question, isn't it," Mitchell asked sheepishly, realizing his mistake only too late.

"Hm, Mitchell? Shall I shuffle round the flat wearing crocheted booties and a frumpy jumper? Perhaps watching crap telly all day? Hm?"

"Of… Annie, of course I didn't mean that." Mitchell mustered his courage and reached his hand across the table to place it on top of Annie's apologetically. "You're just always so professionally attired, is all. Don't you ever let your hair down t'all?"

"I do." Unconsciously Annie reached up and plucked at a strand of her shoulder length locks, curly today as most days.

It was an endearing gesture and it made Mitchell grin. His smile crept into his voice as he used their current topic to segue into George's proposed – rather, _imposed_ – plan for this evening. "Then let us go out tonight – prove me daft."

She smiled a small smile in return and a slight blush painted her cheeks. "I don't know… it could be," she mouthed the word _inappropriate_ as if it were a curse.

"I think not. We are friends, aren't we? And it is a long weekend for me – the only for a _long_ while. I'd like to start it off right."

"Will George join us?" Annie hedged.

"He's plans, I'm afraid."

"Oh. _Oh_! _The_ Nina?"

"The very same. So you wouldn't leave a bloke to his own devices on a Friday night, Annie?"

"No. No, you're quite right. Best I come along and keep you out of trouble."

An hour later, Mitchell stood in front of the door to Annie's flat. He'd showered and changed and now felt more at ease in his vintage Kinks tee shirt and dark grey hoodie. He had the briefest thought that he resembled an older version of several of his students. Taking a calming breath – he had no inclination of why he was so bloody nervous – he knocked on the door. Almost immediately it opened to reveal a flustered Annie.

"Come in," she called as she turned her back to him.

As Mitchell stepped hesitantly through the door he heard Modest Mouse blaring from the stereo. Annie was retreating down the hall like hell on wheels, probably having to do with the fact that she was wearing a towel wrapped about her, and very little else. "Just make yourself at home," she called as she disappeared through a doorway at the end.

It wasn't the first that Mitchell had been inside Annie's flat, but they had been few and short visits. It was a cozy space, smaller than the 'boy's falt', as she called it. There was a small kitchenette and living area, crammed with bookshelves housing nick knacks, crockery and other odds and ends. There was a couch and a small telly tucked into a corner, a laptop sat next to a stack of papers atop the smallest coffee table Mitchell was sure he had ever seen, and the two doors down the hall housed what he supposed to be bedroom and washroom. Small it may have been, but tidy it was, too.

"So, where are you taking me?" Annie called from what he assumed must be the bathroom due to the echo of her voice.

"It's still early," he called back, reluctant to move further into the flat than the living room. "I thought we'd walk along a bit, grab dinner. Then you can show me how you let your hair down," he teased.

"And how is this for a start?"

Mitchell looked up from her thimble collection, neatly arranged by sizes on one particularly crowded shelf. Annie stood in the entrance to the short hall, now dressed in tightly fitted jeans rolled up at the ankle, a pair of well worn Chuck Taylors, and, on top, a loose fitting black jumper, just sheer enough to see the outline of a bra. Her hair had been straitened and tamed into full waves lain across her shoulders.

"Mitchell?" she asked with a tone of concern as she looked down at herself uncertainly.

"What?"

"Have I got two heads?"

"What? Oi, sorry. You look… brilliant."

"Well, thank you." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Shall we go, then?"

"Let's."

* * *

"I always thought the nightlife in Sherwood was quite tame. Oh, but I never minded. Tame was what I needed at the time." Annie nodded at her words as if to convince herself it was true.

"Owen?" Mitchell asked. He had the barest of details from Annie about her ex-fiancé and it had come haltingly at best.

"Another coffee?" Annie asked as she stood with her cup, retreating from the topic.

"Let me," Mitchell offered, taking the cup from her hand. He left his sitting on the tabletop, deciding it was time for a beer instead. They had walked, and stopped at a food truck for some greasy street burgers and fries, and walked some more, before deciding to duck into the small café for a coffee. It was a bit of a hipster joint, serving a mixed bag of bakery items, coffee and tea, bar food and alcohol. Annie was right, there wasn't much to do in Sherwood, day or night. If he had really planned this better, they would have gone to Portland to a club, maybe heard a band play.

_Next time_, he thought as the bartender passed their drinks across the bar. Then he shook his head wondering where that thought had come from.

Mitchell returned to the table with Annie's coffee and his Newcastle. "So," he began. "How long do you reckon we should give them?"

"Who? George and Nina?"

"Aye."

"Oh let's give them time. New love needs time," Annie smiled warmly down into her coffee. "Besides, I haven't been out of the little pink house after dark in ages!"

"I fear it's not going to be an exciting night. Not unless you fancy heading to Portland, and that only if you don't mind taking the motorcycle."

"Oh, no! I'm having a brilliant time."

An awkward silence fell over them for a few moments as Mitchell sipped his beer and Annie rubbed at a coffee stain on the table with her thumb. "Oh!" she suddenly started. "Tell me what you know about Nina!"

"Well," Mitchell leaned in conspiratorially, prompting Annie to do the same. "It seems that Miss Nina Hagar is a restaurant and hospitality manager by trade. She's been called in by George's boss to supervise the running of the place while he opens his second location. They knocked heads a few times before she realized George is more suited to running the kitchen, and she let him do his thing. Never thought he'd work up the courage to ask her out, mind."

"Where is she from?"

"England, if you can believe it," Mitchell let out a half laugh. "Who'd imagine so many brits would congregate in Sherwood, Oregon?"

"Yeah, funny," she nodded hesitantly. "So… What do you think of her?"

"She'll be good for George. If she sticks 'round." Annie frowned at his doubt. "She's firm and confidant, which he could use more of in his life. If she doesn't intimidate him, I think they'll work well together. He's tougher than he lets on, though. Who knows?" Mitchell took another pull of his beer, growing bored of talking about this topic. He was happy to see his mate finally show a real interest in a relationship, but it wasn't his style to meddle with any of that shite. Better to let them work it out on their own.

"Now all we need is to find you a lady-friend, Mitchell."

That drew his attention back, front and center. "No. No, I'm crap at relationships. I left my last girlfriend in a heap o' ashes before I came over the pond. No, none a that for me, Annie."

"Oh, it can't have been _that_ bad! Really! You're a good person, Mitchell. I mean you're an English teacher for goodness' sake. How evil could you really be?"

"I come with baggage." He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes as he muttered it into his bottle.

"Well… who doesn't, eh?"

Mitchell checked his watch, not liking the bearing of this conversation. "Yeah," he answered shortly.

"Sorry," Annie whispered.

"No, I am. I'm just really tired all of a sudden. Let me walk you home?"

"No need to go out of your way," she teased with a smile, trying to forget his out-of-the-blue moodiness.

He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes and she noticed. "I think I'm headed that direction."

"Well, all right then. I accept."

"I'll just pay the tab and meet you outside, yeah?"

"You cold?" he asked as they walked back toward the pink house. Annie had been chaffing her hands against her arms for a few minutes already.

"We're almost home, now," she replied cheerily.

Tired of the awkwardness and the distance that had crept between them on their quiet walk home, Mitchell unzipped his hoodie and moved closer to Annie so he could drape it across her shoulders.

"Oh, Mitchell!" she protested.

"I'm not taking no for an answer."

They stopped walking so Annie could slip her arms into the sleeves. She looked down as she zipped the already warm jacket closed. Mitchell leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek. At the same moment Annie turned her head to say 'thank you', but her words were cut off as Mitchell's lips met hers askew.

"Oh!" Annie said in surprise as Mitchell chuckled quietly. "I was just…"

"Easy?" he supplied, mirthfully.

"Going to say thank you!"

"Well you should. That felt…"

"What did it feel like?" Annie asked, almost urgently, cutting him off.

"A bit cold," he grinned. "But, nice."

They continued their walk home in silence, though closer to one another now. "Shall I walk you to your door, Miss Rath?" Mitchell asked with a little bow.

"That's quite alright, Mr. Turner," Annie declined as she handed over his jacket.

"Are you sure you won't freeze on the way up?"

"It's one flight, Mitchell. I'll see you for tea tomorrow, yeah?"

"Tea tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

**_In which Mitchell makes Annie cry._**

* * *

"George!" Mitchell had hardly latched the door behind him when he began calling for his flat mate. "George, can I have a word?"

Out of the back of the hall a somewhat rumpled pair appeared. Nina came out clutching her bag and smoothing her blonde locks back under control while George, a few steps behind, scrubbed violently at his face with both hands.

"Yes… Mitchell?" George answered stiffly.

"Ah, sorry. Didn't realize… I'll just…" Mitchell stammered apologetically.

"Kitchen." George all but barked.

"Yeah. Right. I'll be in the… in the kitchen." Mitchell ducked into the other room, making to busy himself by rummaging through the cupboards.

"I had to go anyway," he overheard George's date making her excuses. "I had a lovely time. The wine was lovely. And the curry was… lovely."

"Well I'm glad. I'm pleased everything was _lovely_." Mitchell heard George's nervous giggle.

"Perhaps we should do it again, yeah?"

As Mitchell leaned forward to peak through the door he saw the short, blonde place her hand on George's chest affectionately.

"Yeah. _Yes_." Mitchell could almost hear his mate gulp a nervous breath of air as the smaller woman leaned up on her tiptoes to place a kiss to his lips. She lowered herself back to the floor quite gracefully and turned towards the door.

"See you at work, George."

"Yes, work," George finally broke out of his stunned silence. "Goodnight," he wished as she walked through the door, pulling it closed behind her.

"Well done, George!" Mitchell stepped out of the kitchen, clapping and grinning at his still stunned friend.

"Lovely," George said dreamily, still staring at the door.

"Yeah. Sorry if I interrupted… anything."

"Yes," George finally turned to focus on his friend, standing awkwardly in the kitchen door, holding an empty box of biscuits. "What _was_ so important that you had to interrupt… _that_?"

"I'm _really_ sorry, George."

"Never mind, Mitchell. Out with it."

"I think Annie fancies me."

"Yeah?" George smirked as he turned on the kettle.

"I'm serious, George." Mitchell began pacing the kitchen nervously.

"So? Wha…" he stopped speaking abruptly as he reached his hand down to the bottom of the tea canister. "_Really_, Annie?" he whisper-shouted toward the ceiling.

"What's so unbelievable about Annie fancying me?"

"Tea! There's no more bloody tea!" To illustrate, George overturned the empty tea canister onto the countertop. "And, 'FYI', no one says _fancy_ anymore."

"You're not surprised by this?"

"Why would I be? She is a single lady, of an age, with a handsome bloke as a tenant…"

"_Two_ handsome blokes," Mitchell interrupted.

"You're a good mate. When you're not barging in on… _activities_!"

"I said I was sorry. I'm bloody remorseful, alright? What do I do?"

"Well, you don't do it again – that's for starters," George answered as he emptied the kettle into the sink.

"About Annie! What do I do about Annie?"

"Well, you… _keep your voice down_," George gestured to the ceiling as they hear floorboards creak above them. "And you take her out for a coffee."

"We already do that."

"Then you make her dinner," George supplied instead.

"I don't cook."

"Are you even sure you want to _do anything about Annie_?" George was trying very hard to keep the frustration from his voice, but at this point, all he wanted was to go to bed and dream about the sex he was currently _not having_.

"I don't know, I… _She_ could be good for _me_, but…" Mitchell raked his hands through his hair in that way he did when there was something troubling him.

"Then do something, or don't. But whatever you do, you _do not_ hurt her. I happen to quite like this flat, and Annie, as a matter of fact. And I will not have you mucking that up."

"You know I would _never_ do anything to hurt Annie!" Mitchell defended himself, appalled at the thought.

"Yeah. Now I'm gonna go have a pee. And go to bed. Goodnight."

George headed off to the loo leaving Mitchell even more confused than he was before speaking to his friend. Did he want to pursue something with Annie? He reached into the fridge for a beer, only to come up empty handed. "Bloody great." He had a feeling it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

It was nearly eleven in the morning when Mitchell woke up on the sofa with a note pinned to his tee shirt, like a lost child or a murder victim. The juxtaposition of the two examples suddenly made his skin crawl.

_See you had a late night. Be working all day at the restaurant. Late dinner at Nina's. Don't do anything stupid. Remember tea._

_X George_

He crumpled the paper and tossed it in the general direction of the bin. There were beer bottles littering the floor and coffee table, and judging from his splitting headache, the fridge was probably empty again as well. Mitchell had gone round the shop last night to pick up tea and grabbed a sixer while he was there. A quick glance into the kitchen confirmed it.

He decided to hop in the shower before clearing away his mess. By the time he had straightened the flat to a more presentable – at least a more livable – state, had his coffee and determined that his stomach was still torn up – either from the nerves or the alcohol – to eat anything, it was getting on to one in the afternoon.

Mitchell rinsed his coffee mug and fished into his pocket for a cigarette. He took the fag, a pen and a pad out into the back garden and sat cross-legged on the hard ground next to the stone wall. It was warm for early October and he was glad of it, but the sun was glaring down reproachfully at him, ignoring the fact he had a hangover.

_Pro's_, he began to write. _Her sweetness, purity, goodness, cheerfulness, sense of humor. _He paused for a moment. _Looks?_ he thought. "Goes without sayin'," he murmured to himself. _She doesn't see me as I really am._

With that last tick on the list, he finished his cig, ripped the page from the pad and crumpled it into his fist. Why had he even thought of the stupid idea of makin' a list? Someone once told him something about lists…

"Hello, Stranger."

Mitchell glanced up at the still open back door. There Annie stood in another set of jeans and a long-sleeved, creamy colored tee shirt. And all Mitchel could think at the moment was how her skin against the fabric resemble milk swirling into a cup of tea. _Tea_. Tea! Annie was here for tea, that's right. He made to stand as she took another step into the garden.

"No, I'll join you down there. It's a lovely warm day, isn't it?"

"Aye," he managed as she settled next to him.

"Well, I'm early. But then you're out of tea, aren't you? I thought we could walk to the shop together," she smiled for seemingly no reason in particular.

"Well, no, actually. George was a bit cross about there bein' no tea last night. I went round the shop then."

"Ah. Sorry, George," she said as if the third party could hear her at the restaurant nearly forty miles away.

"Ah, but we _are _out of biscuits," Mitchell supplied as if this was helpful. He felt himself settling back into a comfortable rhythm now that Annie was here. The thought almost broke into his mind that it was odd how much more uncomfortable he was when she wasn't around.

"Oh, well I have plenty. We could do tea in my flat! We never do that. Is that ok?"

Mitchell chuckled at the absurdity of her question. He simply stood up and offered her his hand to pull her to her feet.

"Thank you, sir," she said as she leaned up slightly and kissed Mitchell's cheek.

A half hour later, they were sat on Annie's small couch, in Annie's small living room, finishing their first cups of tea.

"I hope George wasn't too put out by the tea… thing," Annie apologized for the umpteenth time.

"More like the me walking in on things… thing," Mitchell mumbled into his teacup.

"You didn't!"

"Well, no, but I almost did. He should thank me, really. 'Cause of me interruptin' she asked him out on another date." He smiled broadly as he said this, knowing full well it was oddly something in George _himself_ that had snared the five foot, blonde firecracker.

"Yeah?" Annie exclaimed, sharing in Mitchell's enthusiasm for his friend's fortune.

"Yeah. But, no, they were really adorable together. She said 'lovely' quite a lot, and George was George." Mitchell frowned for a moment, thinking about what he had witnessed from the kitchen doorway last night. "Really, it was quite… awkward."

"Oh…" Annie sounded slightly deflated.

"But cute," Mitchell reassured her. "George was nearly stunned beside himself when she gave 'im a goodnight kiss."

"Awe," she cooed in response. "So, then… I wasn't the only _easy_ one last night."

"Sorry, what?" Mitchell almost spat as Annie stood to take the cups to the kettle for a refill.

"Last night. You kissed me… or, I kissed you… well… we kissed," Annie stumbled over her words quickly as she poured more steaming water into the mugs. "And I said, 'I was just,' and you said, 'Easy'. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah… that." Mitchell stood and walked the short distance to one of Annie's bookshelves, hoping the action would shake out some of his nervous energy. It didn't.

This particular shelf housed a collection of Jane Austen novels, a few empty candlesticks, a brass bowl with buttons inside, and several old and well-worn, unframed photographs propped against the book spines. Mitchell studied them idly as he waited on Annie to speak again or return to the couch with more tea. After a few moments of silence, he turned to find Annie sat back on the couch, watching him, his cup abandoned on the coffee table, while hers warmed her hands.

"Sorry. Nosey," he had the good grace to blush and she couldn't help finding that adorable. Especially the way the color lit his too-pale cheeks.

"Not at all. I'm in your flat on a daily basis. I could probably write books and books on you and George. Bring them here?" she asked sweetly.

Mitchel gathered up the photos and transferred them to Annie's waiting fingers as he resumed his seat beside her.

"Those are my sisters, Sue Ellen and Elizabeth. Liz is at Uni now. Essie – that's what I called her since I was this high," Annie explained holding her hand down near her knee to illustrate. "Since I couldn't say Sue Ellen. You know, S. E. became Essie… Well, she's got three boys now. I've never seen the youngest – Brett." She flipped through a few more stopping at a picture of her and a tall brunet girl. They looked to be about ten years younger than Annie was now. Maybe fifteen. "Going to the club with my best girlfriend, Sasha. She, was, insane at the clubs!" Annie laughed at a particular memory, and Mitchell smiled warmly at the sound, but it faded all too quickly.

"That your mum and dad?" he asked as she looked longingly at the older couple in the next photo.

"Yeah." Annie left it at that, getting up to place the photographs lovingly back on their shelf.

"Why don't you have any recent pictures, Annie?" Mitchell asked gently. Annie let out a long breath before turning back round to face Mitchell with a worn out look plastered over her features.

"Owen," she said simply.

"Do you… want to talk about it?"

With his question, Annie's mask crumbled and the tears started streaming down her face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she sniffed quietly, swiping at her eyes as if the sight of her tears could offend him in some strange way.

"No, Annie, sweetheart." Mitchell stood and collected Annie into his arms as quickly as he could. He should have known not to say anything. You don't pry with something as personal as all of that. "We don't have to talk about it. Not ever, if you don't want to."

"But…" she began hesitantly. "You would listen if I did?"

Astonished, Mitchell pulled back so to look Annie in the eyes. "Of course." He hugged her tightly to him once more. "I'm always here, Annie. I'll always be right here." Mitchell could feel her head nodding against his chest as he stroked her hair softly.

Inwardly he cursed himself. He'd not even decided if he wanted more out of his time spent with Annie, and already he'd gone back on his word to George that he would never hurt her. Maybe not directly, but he loathed the feeling he might be in any way responsible for her pain.

* * *

"Drunken noodles fer me, and, uh, basil pork fried rice for Annie." They were back at the boys' flat and Mitchell was unpacking the sack of Thai delivery that had just arrived at the door. "Not one pepper hot, not two peppers hot, but _three_, count them,_ three _peppers hot!" He pointed to the sticker on the side of her carton illustrating the strength of heat within.

Annie laughed as she took the proffered food from him. "That is because _I'm_ no _wuss_!" She squealed as Mitchell popped the top off another ale and sent the metal disk sailing toward her head.

"I prefer to _taste_ my dinner, thank ya." He passed her a bottle and the opener. "And for that, you'll get your own tops the rest of the evenin'." But he laughed jovially as they made their way to the couch to continue their _Lost_ marathon and eat their dinner from cartons like students. "I'll have you know, Annie, even pissed and sloppy, we are ten t'ousand times cleaner than most of my students." His accent was coming through loud and clear after the second ale.

"You only teach boys?" Annie giggled at the look of contempt Mitchell was attempting.

"Shut up and watch, or the smoke monster'll get ya."

"What did you say that thing was, again?"

"He's Jack the Ripper's ghost, hell bent on killin' from the beyond," Mitchell teased.

"He's not! You've seen every series of this, you know!"

"Yeah but it's more entertainin' to come up with wild t'eories. I've seen it t'ree times, Annie. Once already with you. Let me have my fun."

"Oh, hush!" Annie threw her hands up. Sawyer was tricking Kate out of a kiss while tied to a tree in the jungle. Mitchell knew it was one of Annie's favorite scenes. He'd be surprised if she didn't run the DVD back in order to see it again. Suddenly his stomach was uneasy and he stood to take his half-empty carton and stow it in the fridge. "Mine too. Please? Thank you!" Annie said in a rush, passing him her carton, nearly empty already.

Mitchell cleaned up the takeout mess while Annie watched her scene once again, and silently returned with two new bottles of ale. The banter that had begun so easily as soon as they had returned to the first floor flat died down with the end of the episode and they watched another in companionable silence.

Annie's head was feeling woozy and she leaned up against Mitchell for support, reveling in his warmth against her back. He felt safe, made her feel safe. She smiled and closed her eyes as the next episode began.

"Annie?" Mitchell whispered softly into her ear. She heard it only faintly at first as she snuggled back into the warmth of… of Mitchell's arms. Her eyes shot open abruptly, though she remained still, not wanting to disturb anything. "You awake now, darlin'?"

"Mmm," she answered warily.

"You passed out about an hour ago. We drank quite a lot, the two of us. We'll both have a bloody good headache in the morning." He moved to help her sit up and she groaned.

"What time is it?"

"Past midnight. I don't expect George will be home this evenin'." Mitchell steadied Annie just as she was about to stumble forward off the couch. "And I'm not sure you should be walkin' all on your own."

"Maybe…" she gulped as another wave of dizziness hit her, followed quickly by that sweet warmth, and she couldn't decide if it was from the alcohol, or the man holding her up. "Maybe you're right. May I sleep on your couch?"

Mitchell shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid you can't." She frowned at him in response and it took all of his steadily wavering composure to maintain a straight face. "Flat has a strict no girls on the couch policy."

"I'm not a girl! I'm your landlord… I'm Annie!"

"And that's why you'll have my bed." Mitchell had sobered up a bit as he had watched Annie doze. He had matched her for drinks, though she weighed quite a bit less than he, and he was afraid her state of drunkenness far exceeded his. He'd not send anyone home in such a state, no matter whom or how close they lived. He watched Annie smile warmly as he began guiding her to his bedroom at the back of the hall.

They stumbled to the edge of the bed and he sat her there attempting to kneel in front of her and remove her sneakers.

"Thank you, Mitchell."

"Fer gettin' ya pissed?" he chuckled to himself as he slipped her feet from their confines and swung her legs round onto the length of his bed.

"For not asking about my parents."

His breath caught at her quiet words and he wanted so much to know her story in its entirety. Though he knew asking would crush anything he had managed to heal tonight. Instead he stepped around the other side of the bed and sat cross-legged on the mattress next to Annie. Her eyes were open and soft, and her smile was easy. He saw a lucidity in her features that told him she wasn't as far gone as he'd first believed. "That's your story to tell, Love," he whispered as he looked down on her.

"Are you going to kiss me like he kissed Kate?" The bluntness of her question startled him and it must have shown on his face. "I've always wanted to be kissed like that." She sighed and closed her eyes, expecting nothing.

"Then I'll kiss you like that," Mitchell said steadily. He leaned down and brushed his mouth against her now parted lips, sliding his tongue softly along their opening. Her moan of appreciation caused him to deepen the kiss. And in that moment, all logical internal discussion he had held in his mind of whether or not this was what he wanted did not matter.


	3. Chapter 3

_**In which there is much fluff, some silliness, and definitely some S E X. Also, this is where the alternate universe spin begins to weave into the story. Three direct quotes from the series. See if you can spot 'em.**_

* * *

"Mmm. Mitchell?"

"What?" Mitchell pulled back from his position, hovering over Annie. She had rid him of his shirt and hers as well, though they were both still partially clothed. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, just… this pillow?"

"Mhm?" he asked, while once again placing kisses against the skin just below her collar bone.

"Do you have another one?"

"What?" he asked, leaning back slightly again, his voice going up an octave. How was she thinking about pillows now?

"Well, it's… it's lumpy. And… my neck," Annie explained apologetically.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, sorry." Swiftly, Mitchell snatched the pillow from beneath Annie's head.

"Oh!"

"Better?" he asked.

"All right, then. Yeah," she smiled congenially. Her hand snaked up the back of Mitchell's neck to curl into his hair as she began kissing his jaw, near his ear. He himself had resumed his exploration of Annie's exposed skin just above her lacey bra. "Mitchell," she whispered in his ear with a start. Her tone broke his concentration and he lifted his head once again.

"Yeah," he answered as calmly as he could manage under present circumstances.

"Is the door locked? I mean… George." Annie was looking up at him pleadingly.

"Won't be home tonight. Besides, he _has_ got a key, Annie." He chuckled lightly, playfully running a finger beneath one of her bra straps.

"Oh, _right_. I gave it to him."

"Why ever would you do a thing like that?" It was becoming uncomfortable now, the angle at which he was holding his body over Annie, so Mitchell shifted to her right and propped himself on his elbow, still facing her.

"Well, I didn't exactly think I would be in this position at the time, now did I?"

"Are you ashamed to be seen with me?" Mitchell asked as he leaned down to kiss her right shoulder, his eyes never leaving hers. She shivered at the sensation.

"Not at all. Eyelash," she responded.

"Sorry, what?"

Annie reached her fingertip out to touch Mitchell's cheek, bringing it away with a long, dark lash resting there. "Make a wish," she demanded brightly.

"How?" Mitchell's brows knitted together with the question.

"You've never wished on an eyelash?" Mitchell shook his head. "Well you make a wish – not out loud!" she shouted as he was opening his mouth. "Now close your eyes and wish."

"Must I really close my eyes?"

"Mmm, I'm not exactly sure on that point. Couldn't hurt."

"Couldn't hurt," Mitchell agreed, chuckling and squinting his eyes shut tightly.

"When you've made your wish, you blow the lash from my finger," Annie instructed. She waited a few moments before breaking the silence. "Mitchell?"

"Yeah?" he answered with his eyes still tightly closed.

"What are you doing?"

"Wishing."

"Mitchell," Annie snorted. "You couldn't possibly live long enough for that wish to come true."

"Just a second," he whispered. Annie waited patiently with a smile on her lips for five more seconds. "There," Mitchell said as he gently blew the lash from the pad of Annie's finger.

"And the renters before _that_…" Nearly an hour had passed and Annie was continuing her story of the horrors of landlord-ing. "They smelled of patchouli all the time! And feet! I'm not kidding," she exclaimed as Mitchell exploded with laughter. "The entire flat reeked when they vacated. I'm pretty bloody sure they were growing marijuana in the pantry. I read about clearing spaces of presences or bad energy or… whatever, and I burned sage in the entire house!"

"Did it work?"

"It smelled like burned sage over patchouli, marijuana and feet!" They both began laughing again. "I had to air out the place for a week!"

"Glad to know I'm such a _normal_ renter, then." Mitchell pushed himself back into a sitting position against his headboard. They were both sipping on tea that Annie had made a little while ago, while wrapped in a throw from the foot of Mitchell's bed.

"I wouldn't exactly say normal," Annie teased. She looked around the bedroom noting stacks of books, dog-eared and worn; old newspapers, documentaries on DVD, mostly on The Great War. Chocolate wrappers, coffee cups and empty cigarette packets littered the desk where his laptop lay. She could imagine him sitting there grading his papers. "You stay up nights, do you?"

"Mmm," He nodded soberly. "I am wildly unhappy."

"Why?"

"Because that's the way I am." And with that he shifted from his seated position to lie facing the ceiling, with his head resting on Annie's belly. She began softly running her fingers through his hair and humming to herself. Her thoughts began to wander to some distant place and Mitchell wanted to bring her back to him.

"Ask me something personal. Something real," he commanded.

"What's you mother like?"

"My ma was very beautiful, very cheerful. She always had a kind word to share. You remind me of her that way." He paused in his telling and smiled up at Annie. She smiled back warmly, waiting for him to continue. "She died very young. Leukemia."

"I'm so sorry." Annie began to sniff a bit.

"No. She was never meant to stay in this world and grow old like the rest of us. Now she will always be young and beautiful. There are so many terrible things that she hasn't had to see."

"What about your dad?"

"Da was a newspaper man. Traveled a ton. I hardly got to know him. But he paid my way through University and…" Mitchell shut his eyes as if recalling an unwelcome memory. "Then the old man died too," he continued. "His heart just stopped beating one day, as if he'd had too much sorrow heaped upon him to keep going."

"He would be proud of you," Annie spoke up after a few moments had passed.

"Would he?"

"Yeah, English professor that you are."

Mitchell turned on his side, wrapping his arms around Annie's waist. "Thank you," he said as he placed a kiss against the soft skin there.

"So…" Annie ventured cautiously. "What were you writing in the garden this afternoon?" She could hold her curiosity at bay no longer.

"Promise not to laugh or run away screaming?"

"On my honor." She held up her hand indicating her pledge.

"I was making a list."

"That's not so funny or scary."

"A list about you," Mitchell continued haltingly.

"Oh," Annie breathed out with quiet surprise. She'd expected a shopping list, or chores – no, not chores, not from the state of Mitchell's bedroom, certainly not. But not a list about her. "What about me?" she asked softly.

Mitchell closed his eyes tightly and breathed in Annie's scent as if it would be the last chance he got to take note of her so closely. He let out an anguished breath before answering unsteadily. "Your… qualities."

She was quiet following his confession, but she'd not pulled away yet and that alone gave him courage enough to open his eyes and glance up at her face. Her nose was scrunched up in a look of confusion. It was so adorable, so utterly Annie, that he couldn't stifle a small laugh.

"Whatever for?"

"Nothing," he dismissed it straight away. "It was stupid. I don't know why people make lists for anyway." Slightly calmer now, he lay his cheek back against her belly.

"Well, that's easy. Lists solve everything. You put the thing on the list, you do the thing and then you tick it off. And the world becomes a better place," Annie supplied, ever helpful.

Precisely as she was speaking, Mitchell experience the most brilliant migraine he'd ever remembered having. He sat bolt upright, only making the sensation worse and bringing on a wave of dizziness to accompany it. He gasped like a drowning man, waiting for the pain to subside. And just as quickly as the phenomena had occurred, the pain had eased away into a dull kind of ache that could be easily blamed on the alcohol.

"Mitchell!" Annie leaned forward, placing a steadying hand on Mitchell's back. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but he looked utterly distraught. "Mitchell, are you alright?"

"Sorry, what?" He shook his head to clear it before turning back to look at the woman in his bed. Not just any woman – Annie. But looking her in the eyes didn't bring any more clarity about what had just happened, only more confusion.

"Are you alright?" she repeated, obviously concerned. Mitchell did his best to hid the look on his face with an amused smile.

"Ah, yeah! Sorry. Just a quick headache, come and gone."

"Well that's a relief. I thought you were having a heart attack."

"Annie?" Mitchell gently guided her back into a reclining position. "Does any of this… seem… familiar to you?"

"How do you mean?" She was scrunching her nose again and Mitchell found it very distracting. Without thinking, he reached his hand out and smoothed his thumb across the bridge of her nose.

"Like déjà vu."

"I'm fairly sure I've never found myself in your bed before, Mitchell," she answered breathily. He let out a quiet, nervous laugh and shook his head.

"No. I would remember that." The pain of earlier all but forgotten, he flashed her his most endeering smile. He manuvered himself astride her once more, brushing a fall of dark hair behind her shoulder.

"What did you write on your list?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"She's sweet," he began before leaning in to kiss her gently. "Cheerful, funny," he continued kissing her while pushing her bra straps down slowly, with just the tips of his fingers. "Beautiful." His mouth began to wander across her chin and down her neck.

"You really thought of my body?" Annie placed both hands to either side of Mitchell's face and pulled him away to look at her.

"Oh, _yes_."

The kiss those two small words precipitated was nearly violent on Annie's behalf.

"Whoa, Annie! Slow down," Mitchell gasped as he pulled back for a breath.

"You're right. These have got to go fist." Annie lay back and reached around behind her to unhook her bra. Not one to be outmatched, Mitchell took his cue and began shedding his pants. By the time he looked up, Annie was unbuttoning her jeans, her bra lying loose against her chest. Mitchell reached forward and hooked his fingers beneath the waistbands of jeans and nickers and helped Annie free of them.

He watched a brilliant blush shadow her face as he settled between her legs, moving forward slowly, intent on removing the only remaining thing seperating them.

The last lacy article of clothing hit the floor with a soft thud and they were completely exposed to one another.

"You know," Mitchell spoke softly – conspiratorially – and he felt the blood rising in his own cheeks. "I wasn't planning for any of this. I had no ulterior motives when I woke up this morning."

"Would you think less of me if I told you I did?"

A wide smile spread over Mitchell's face. "That is _so_ _hot_," he said gruffly, causing Annie to giggle. He captured the last of her voice with his mouth and as he deepened their kiss he dipped his finger inside of her. She gasped and he pulled his mouth away from hers to catch a breath. "Jesus, you are so wet."

She liked the deeper, guttural sound of his voice when they were like this. But her head was swimming and she felt as though she would blow away if she breathed out. Reaching down between them, she took hold of his wrist and made it clear there was something else she wanted him to be doing with his hand. Annie guided his palm to cup her breast and as she did, Mitchell guided himself inside of her. A surprised _oh_ escaped her mouth before he closed his own over it.

He moved slowly, but forcefully, building, finding a rhythm that was both erotic and comforting. Annie felt surrounded and filled with everything that was right in this world. She felt safer and more sure of herself than she had felt in a very long time.

"God, Annie!" Mitchell gasped as he pulled his mouth away from hers. She felt his arms shaking against her sides where he gripped onto the sheets, his eyes closed tightly.

Annie couldn't seem to focus on any one feeling or sensation, sight or sound. Her senses flitted about the room like a hummingbird, finally coming to rest on Mitchell's face above her. She could make out sweat beading his brow and dampening his dark curls, and in the middle of her thought – how lucky was she to have found this man? – he moved _into_ her in just that way…

"Oh, _my_… God!" she shouted.

"Fuck… Annie!" Mitchell thrust once more as her muscles clenched around him, before lowering his body to rest lazily on top of her. He pressed his forehead to hers and placed a kiss just below the veil of her eyelashes.

They lay like that together for several moments before they both dissolved into a fit of laughter.

* * *

George was whistling on the bus home at 7:15 the next morning. He was humming to himself as he climbed the steps to the first floor from the garage. He tripped lightly through the house to the front door to retrieve the Sunday morning paper from the stoop.

"Coffee must be made," he said to himself cheerily.

Fifteen minutes later, George took the paper, along with two freshly made cups of coffee down the short hall to Mitchell's room.

"Good morning!" he sang as he opened the door. "_I had sex with Nina_ last night and it was bloody marvelous!"

Mitchell sat up in bed groggily, flicking the lamp on without really thinking. He felt Annie stir in the bed next too him too late and dropped his head into his hands as he heard his roommate's exclamation.

"Five minutes. Could I not have had _five minutes_ with The Biggest News?"


	4. Chapter 4

_**In which we see George... being George, multiple dirty words, and Casablanca. I would also like to thank all of you that have followed or fav'ed the story. It means a lot to me. Please feel free to review, as I would love to know your thoughts. I will be going out of state for just over a week with my husband this Sunday. I will have my laptop with me and will try to write while away, but you never know if inspiration will strike, or if my muse prefers Texas to Alabama.**_

* * *

"George, it's seven… something… in the morning."

"Eight," George clipped.

"Barely eight A.M.," Mitchell amended. "I had eight or nine beers last night, just myself, and only five hours sleep." He and George had moved out to the back garden to give Annie some time and privacy to get out of bed

"And _that_ is _precisely_ what I want to talk to you about." George was pacing the small patio as Mitchell leaned coolly against the stone wall in contrast.

"I don't follow, George."

"You had liquor…"

"Beer."

"And you were probably being your _irresistible self_…"

"I wasn't planning this, George."

"No. No, _you_ don't plan anything. Things just _happen_! Don't they?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mitchell stood upright now, shaking off the last of his grogginess as anger began to set in. "You were the one who said Annie could be good for me!"

"No. _You_ said she could be good for you. I just didn't disagree." George crossed his shoulders in defiance.

"Oh, _well_."

"And it is _supposed_ to mean that ever since I've known you, Mitchell, you have an uncanny ability to find yourself in situations that you are _completely_ unequipped to handle! You don't seem to steer yourself toward anything. You always just… land where you fall."

"And I always land on my feet, don't I?"

"And what if this is the one time that you don't?"

"Your lack of faith in me is staggering." Mitchell was the one pacing now as George stood still. "My best mate, George. You're supposed to be my _best mate_."

"I have faith in you, Mitchell. I think Annie could be good for you, yes…"

"But I'll be…"

"You'll be good _to _her, Mitchell. I just think you should know what you're getting yourself into."

* * *

The boys were certainly going on about something out there. Luckily they were keeping their voices down. Annie smiled to herself as she thought that George and Mitchell really were her best renters to date. She busied herself in the kitchen while the kettle came to boil. She only hoped she hadn't upset the balance between the flat mates, though she had a sick feeling in the pit of stomach that they were arguing about her.

As she poured steaming liquid into the three waiting mugs, she realized the activity had died down outside. Juggling the cups expertly she unlatched the door and let herself out to join them in the garden.

"Morning!" she greeted cheerily, passing out tea to first George, then Mitchell.

They both turned heads to face her while accepting the peace offering. Mitchell looked at her with sad, or maybe just tired eyes. While George squeaked out a short 'hello'.

"You have the day off work, George? We could have a black and white movie marathon. Giant, Casablanca?"

"No. The restaurant is hosting a private brunch, and… Shit! I'm going to be late! I only came home to change clothes." He thrust his untouched cup of tea back at her and gave a quick kiss on the cheek. "Sorry, Annie."

"No problem."

He gave Mitchell a meaningful glance before reaching out his hand and clapping him on the shoulder. "See you later?"

"Yeah," Mitchell answered shortly, as Gorge turned to change and head back to the bus stop.

"What was that all about?"

"Nothing. He just…" Mitchell hesitated and Annie certainly wasn't blind to it. "Wanted to make sure I wasn't taking advantage of you."

"Oh. Well, that's sweet. In an overprotective brother sort of way." She smiled uneasily, feeling that what Mitchell had told her wasn't the half of it.

Mitchell sat down on the wall and reached out to take the now extra mug of tea out of Annie's hands. He set it down on the patio at his feet and grabbed her now free hand, pulling her down to sit next to him on the wall. She snuggled into his side, feeling a cold breeze reach into the little garden.

"This is nice," she said as he pulled her closer into him.

"Yeah."

"It's getting cold again, isn't it?"

At her question, Mitchell squinted into the sky, looking at the dark clouds forming there. "I think it's going to rain."

* * *

"Well she's a big girl, isn't she, George? She can decide for herself if that's what she wants." Nina was leaning on one of the empty prep stations in the kitchen, cleaning glasses for mimosas while George prepped his brunch ingredients.

"Beignets with blackberry jam, roasted red pepper and spinach frittata, carrot cake pancakes and fried chicken thighs. Does that sound right? Am I forgetting anything?" George flitted around his station nervously. He hated the private brunch parties that the owner threw once a month. Otherwise the restaurant would be closed up till dinner on a Sunday, but as it was George had a long day ahead of him.

"George. Calm down. Everything's here. You worry about the food, and I'll handle the cocktails."

George nodded. Once he actually began cooking the meal he would settle. He was just wound up about the brunch already and now the Annie and Mitchell thing… Perhaps talking through it with Nina wasn't such a bad thing. After all, that's what partners did for each other… wasn't it?

"They are two of the very best friends I've ever had and I just… I don't want to see them get hurt… or hurting each other. Either of them."

Nina stepped away from her work and sought out George's hand. "How would they possibly hurt each other as badly as you worry for? Relationships are messy and no one knows where they are going to end up at the beginning. But that's part and parcel of dating. It's a risk you take when you're seeking out happiness."

"She's looking for a hero, Nina. And Mitchell is… no hero. He's struggling to keep his own head above water. And he will place everything he has, all his hopes, his reason for being, into Annie's love and affection. If she takes that away for… for whatever reason, he will be beyond destroyed." As he spoke the reasons aloud to Nina, George saw it all happening, like a terrible train wreck – you see the train keep moving forward and you know it will crash, but there is nothing you can do to stop it.

"You are a good and loyal friend, George Russell. I hope they know how lucky they are to have you." She gave him a swift kiss on the lips, something she was growing fond of doing. "Now, belt up and get to work. We'll talk more about it at dinner."

As Nina returned to her prepping of beverages, George began his ritual of working with food. It calmed him quickly and after a few minutes he was able to let his mind wander.

_Eighteen months ago_:

"My God, Mitchell!"

"It's not my blood, don't worry."

"That doesn't make me worry any less. Whose blood is it?" George moved from the box of books he was unpacking to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of water and a rag.

"Some arseholed little shit in the loo at Holocene."

"You beat up a kid because he was drunk? How drunk are _you_?"

"Not very. Anymore." Mitchell slumped down on the couch, waving George off as his friend tried to get him cleaned up. "I was defending myself, George."

"Right. Whatever." George threw his hands up and turned back to unpacking his boxes.

"He thought I was chatting up his girl."

"Right, and instead of talking it out like civilized _adults_, you thought, 'let's have it out in the loo'. Brilliant. And by the way, were you? Chatting up his girl?"

"Yeah a bit, but…"

"Oh, _Mitchell_."

"What?"

"What _else_ were you doing?"

Mitchell glared at his boots, reluctant to send the malice he was feeling towards George – he was only being a good friend. "Why do you let me out on my own if you're so worried about it?"

"Because you're an adult, Mitchell. I shouldn't have to hold your hand. And you've been through that shit before, you know where it ends."

"Aye." Mitchell knew it was difficult for George to bring up. He'd spent nine months before going to University at a shite rehab facility in Bristol. George had had to move on without him. He'd had a few relapses since, but nothing as bad as before. But meetings weren't really his bag, so it had fallen to George to keep him accountable. And now Mitchell had let his friend down again. "It was a slip, George. It won't happen again."

"Are you high now? Do you realize what would happen if the school board found out?"

"Yes… George."

"You would loose your job, you would loose your visa…"

"I would loose everything," Mitchell said soberly as he stood from the couch.

"Right. Where are you going?"

"To bed." Head hung in genuine remorse for the disappointment he could never cease being, Mitchell stalked off to his bedroom, quietly closing the door without another word.

_Five months ago_:

George stood outside Annie's flat with a plateful of scones in one hand and freshly squeezed orange juice in the other. He knocked the kick plate at the bottom of the door with his shoe.

"Coming," he heard the muffled call from inside. When Annie opened the door, she smiled brightly, but didn't say anything, instead motioning for George to come in. She held a phone to her ear with one hand, while taking the pitcher of juice from him with the other. "Oh, of course. No, go kiss the sweetie for me. Text me pictures. Love you too, Liz. Alright, bye."

"Hello."

"Breakfast?"

"New recipe. Apple, bacon and brie scones."

"Brunch next weekend?" Annie asked as she retrieved two plates and two glasses from one of her kitchen cupboards.

"You _are_ correct. I hate those bloody people." George placed two scones on each plate as Annie poured the juice.

"Then why do you work for them?"

"Not the people I work for; their investors. Pretentious pricks."

"Lovely," she smiled as they sat down on her little sofa to eat.

"Who is the sweetie that Liz is kissing for you?" George asked, changing the subject. "For that matter, who's Liz?"

"Liz is my baby sister and the sweetie is our new nephew," Annie beamed as she took a bite of scone. Her mouth full, she gave George two thumbs up.

"Awe, congratulations."

"Yeah! His name's Brett. Robert, Benjamin and Brett. Essie has her hands full!"

"So when is Auntie Annie going back for a visit?"

Annie shook her head almost imperceptibly before standing and heading into the kitchen. "Tea?" she asked as she moved to put the kettle on.

"No. Thank you. Annie? What's wrong?" George shifted on the sofa so that he could face his friend and give her his full attention.

"Nothing," she smiled.

"No. No, I may not know you like I know Mitchell, but I know when you're upset. You don't want to – or won't – go visit your sisters, Annie. Why?"

Annie kept her eyes on the teacup sitting empty on the counter in front of her. "That is a very long… very _tiring_ story, George."

"I'm already sitting down. And there are scones. And tea."

He was able to coax a smile out of her with that, and as soon as her tea was ready, Annie began talking.

_This morning_:

"I just think you should know what you're getting yourself into."

"What are you talking about, George?"

"Mitchell, did you know Annie was engaged before she moved to the states?" George wasn't sure how much Annie had told Mitchell about her past, and he was hoping beyond hope that his friend already knew. After all, it wasn't his story to tell.

"Of course."

"Right."

"Owen," Mitchell nodded curiously.

"Right." George became quiet and content to stare at his shoes.

"George…?"

"What do you know about Owen?"

"Is this twenty questions?" Mitchell's agitation was beginning to show, no doubt spurred on by the effects of what George was sure to be a righteous hangover.

"Eh," George bobbed his head back and forth as if gauging the validity of his friend's description. "Never mind that. What do you know?"

"That he's a twat."

"That's right, that's right! First rate twat!"

"Twat may not be strong enough a word for 'im," Mitchell continued. "Contemptible…"

"Sleazy…"

"Rat arsed…"

"Probably more _unstable_, really, than drunk…"

"Fucking cunt," Mitchell finished forcefully.

"I _can't_ _even_ bring myself to want to scold you for that one."

"That's strong, coming from you…"

"The point is, Mitchell, that Annie has had too much heart ache in her life already and I think it's safe to say she's still reeling from that. Will be for a long time, probably."

"You can't be suggesting that _I_ would do to Annie what _he_…"

"No." George said, all seriousness now. "You're not a killer."

A sudden look of pain crossed his flat mate's face and both of his hands flew up to clutch at either side of his head. But George wasn't backing down because of a _hangover_. Mitchell _needed to know._

"After all of the shit way he treated her, and many, many times of Annie leaving and going back again… he finally pushed her down the stairs." Mitchell's eyes shot up to stare at George. So he hadn't known that part. "After she was released from hospital, she went to stay with her parents."

"Her mum and dad," Mitchell breathed as if recalling a foggy memory.

"Her little sister brought her home from her physiotherapy one day and they found Owen there. He had shot her parents. Turned the gun on himself."

"Annie…" Mitchell's heart was breaking for her, and George could see it written on his face.

"Her older sister blames her. And she hasn't seen her family since she left England four years ago. She has a five month old nephew that she's never met."

The creak of the door told them that Annie was joining them on the garden patio.

"Morning!"

* * *

Mitchell sat in silence in the empty flat, pulling at the frayed ends of his sweater sleeve. Annie had retreated home a few moments ago to change into something warmer since the rain promised to bring colder weather down with it.

His body tensed as he heard the stairs above him creak, heralding her return. He picked up his now cold cup of tea and tried to wipe all look of worry from his face before she came in.

"Don't you ever do anything productive, Mr. Turner?" she asked as she climbed onto the couch beside him.

"Like what?" he scoffed.

"Oh, I don't know. Whatever teachers do. Grade papers?"

"That's the best part of bein' a teacher. I get to schedule my assignments around holiday and long weekends. The kids love it. I love it. No one looses."

"I think I'd like to see you grading papers," she smiled.

"The you shall. But not this weekend." Mitchell placed his still full cup down on the coffee table and turned to Annie. He flipped her onto her back and leaned over her. "You know what that means, don't you?"

"More time for… _sex_?" Annie drew the word out in an attempt at seduction.

"More time for Casablanca," Mitchell deadpanned. But at the incredibly adorable, completely _Annie,_ pout that appeared on her face, he quickly changed his tune and leaned in for a kiss. "Oh, you'll be the death of me…"


	5. Chapter 5

**_In which the gang prepares for an American holiday, the radiator breaks, and Mitchell takes Annie clubbing. Please check out a couple of songs if you will for mood music at the club - 'Peace of Mind' by Selah Sue and 'D.A.N.C.E.' by Justice. Thanks for waiting patiently!_**

* * *

"So, I've spoken to Nina, and she has managed to get a couple days off next week for her and George together, for the holiday. Wednesday and Thursday, I think. And you have the week, so…"

"In-service Monday and Tuesday," Mitchell interrupted, shaking his head. He was seated cross-legged amongst a pile of papers on Annie's small couch, trying to complete grading essays before school released tomorrow for thanksgiving week.

"What's 'in-service'?" Annie asked.

"Teacher in-service workdays. We still have to work when the kids've been released. Will do for a couple of weeks in the summer as well."

"Well, that's fine. It shouldn't matter for our dinner. We'll have roast duck with cranberry sauce, bubble and squeak, cauliflower cheese and banoffee pie." She stopped in her description of their 'thanksgiving' dinner to admire Mitchell, sitting with his red pen looking very distracted and very cute. "Mitchell?

"Yeah," he answered without looking up.

"Are you listening to me… at all?"

"Yeah."

"What did I just _say? Hmm_?"

Mitchell tossed his pen on top of the stack of already finished papers on the coffee table and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Awe, _God_! It's a _test_," he bemoaned.

Annie was off like a rocket, discarding her pad and color-coding pens in favor of attack instead. She launched herself onto the couch, nearly on top of Mitchell, and proceeded with executing her punishment. "I will tickle you until you bleed," she declared as Mitchell threw his head back in a hearty laugh.

"Banoffee pie! Banoffee pie! Banoffee pie! I surrender," he pled breathlessly. Annie stilled her hands and lowered her body further onto Mitchell as he began to relax beneath her. "Banoffee pie?" he whispered in question before reaching up with his mouth to capture hers in a breathless kiss.

"Mmm," she replied, nodding, when he finally pulled away.

"You have got really _crap_ taste in sweets," Mitchell deadpanned. "I'm kidding! Annie, I was only joking!" he protested as Annie began pummeling him with a toss pillow.

"_Really_?" she asked, the pillow poised threateningly above her head.

"I swear!"

"Banoffee pie is good, then?"

"I said yes, now will you let me up, woman?"

"Awe, is it really that bad, me on top of you?" Annie asked as she sat back on the opposite side of the couch from him.

"No. I just really have to finish these papers, darlin'. And it's late already." Mitchell reached out to squeeze her hand reassuringly. She seemed always to be concerned of disappointing or displeasing him. It was the last impression he wanted to give her. She leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"I'm going to bed."

Mitchell reached out for her hand as she stood, giving it a squeeze as she turned from him with a disappointed smile on her lips. With a shake of his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose and retrieved his pen to finish his work, hopefully before one – he glanced at the clock hung on the wall – make that two a.m.

An hour and a quarter later he was trying to close Annie's bedroom door quietly as possible.

"Hi," she yawned, responding to a noise inaudible to Mitchell's ears.

"I'd hoped not to wake ya," he responded as he began unbuttoning his rumpled shirt. He could see her slight form under the coverlet by the light of the bath that she'd left on for him. He dropped his jeans to the floor, stepping out of them on his way to put out the light. "Jesus, Annie! It's bloody freezin'!" He made his way quickly to what he was beginning to think of as his side of the bed, and slid under the covers, seeking out her waist to pull her towards him.

"Gah! _Mitchell_!"

"Sorry," he apologized, chaffing his hands together to warm them before taking hold of her once more.

"Radiator's on the blink. I have to call a plumber in the morning. That's not much better, you know," she admonished.

"You're not so warm yourself, love," he accused in return. Then mumbling, "Frigid widget."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, let's have a bath."

Steam filled the air in the darkened washroom as they sat together in the old tub. Mitchell was entranced by the streams of water moving slowly down Annie's delicate neck. She sat in the water in front of him, her head leaned back against his shoulder, dampened locks of her hair trailing down his arm. His arms were wrapped around her waist mimicking his action in the bed, and he pulled her back tighter against him, wondering as he had many times in the past month and a half, what horrors visited her mind in her quiet moments like this one.

"What are you thinking?" Annie asked, startling him out of contemplation by voicing his exact thought.

"That I may be…"

"Yeah?"

"I might be…"

"Yes, go on?"

"Gettin' prune-y," he murmured, lifting his hands out of the rapidly cooling water.

"Be dramatic about it," Annie giggled as she braced herself on the sides of the tub and prepared to stand.

"Annie."

"Yes, Mitchell?"

He reached for the towel folded on the floor and handed it to her as he watched her step out of the tub. "Come out with me tomorrow night. It's Friday night. My holiday won't start 'till Wednesday, but we still have the weekend."

"Well," Annie smiled happily. "Where will you take me, then?"

"Dinner. In Portland. Anywhere you wanna go. And then… dancin'. How's it sound?"

"It sounds very much like a date, Mr. Turner."

"Awe, Annie," he frowned. "Don't call me that. My kids call me that. It don't feel right, considerin'," he stood and snatched the towel back from an only half-dry Annie.

"Considering what?" she asked, now the one frowning.

"What I'm about to do to ya'."

* * *

"I feel really bad about this," Annie confessed as they made their way through the crowd of diners to their table.

"Why?" Mitchell asked, worried.

"George. We should be eating at George's restaurant. We _are_ in town. We never see him at work."

"Oh, trust me, Annie. The last thing George wants is to cook us _another_ meal. He does enough of it at home."

"Do you think I can't cook? Because I'll have you know, Mitchell, I make a first rate boiled ham and parsley sau-ce." Annie stumbled over her words as a wave of dizziness hit her.

"That's not what I was sayin' _at all_, Annie. I just mean, I'm sure he'd appreciate the time away from us." Mitchell shook out his napkin and glanced down at The Grain & Gristle's menu, before he took note of Annie's silence. "Annie?"

"Hmm?" she asked, now fanning herself with her menu.

"Where'd you go, Love?"

"I must have sat down too quickly. I was about to fall ass over teakettle out of my seat."

"Do you need something, then? A glass of water?" Mitchell half stood from his seat to wave a waitress over.

"A glass of wine, please," Annie said sweetly.

Mitchell kept an eye on her for the rest of the meal, though, aside from being distant for several minutes at the beginning, Annie seemed to be fine. Very normal, very sweet, quirky Annie.

"_Oh_, posh isn't it, _Mr. Turner_?" Annie cooed as the cab pulled up outside Holocene nearing eleven o'clock that night.

"_Please_, Annie! That makes me feel nearly a hundred years yer senior," Mitchell whined as he offered his hand to help her out of the taxi.

"More like two and three quarters," she winked.

"_But who's counting_?" he moaned.

"Are you going to sit me at a private table and order me champagne and try to seduce me?"

"Try?"

"Yes. I'm not an 'off with her nickers the moment the charm starts' sort of girl, Mitchell." She was giggling again.

"My mistake. Anyway," he said as they showed I.D. to the door girl. "This isn't _that_ kind of place."

As they opened the door, a loud hip-hop, funk sound drown out whatever Mitchell was about to say next. A female vocalist was harmonizing over the sounds, singing about finding yourself and feeling what love is, or something… something kind of like it. Annie's head was throbbing, low and steady, in time with the music. Though she had tried to brush off her earlier sense of unease at the restaurant, she hadn't been able to shake it completely. She had had too much wine, she was certain. That's all it was.

Mitchell led her into the club, past the dance floor and toward a banquette of seats tucked into a dark corner. As he took her coat she leaned up to shout in his ear over the music, "Where's the washroom?" He took her hand and led her to the ladies room door.

"I'll wait for ya here," he said.

"No, I'll find my way back to you! Order drinks," she commanded before disappearing into the loo.

Another song had come and gone before Mitchell had a chance to order drinks. He was beginning to worry as Annie strolled over to the bench looking fresh faced and much more comfortable.

He stood and guided her with his hand on her law back to a seat in the corner. "Hey, Gorgeous," he whispered into her ear. It gave her a pleasant shudder and his eyes danced at the thought that he was responsible for that. As they sat, he caught a glimpse of them in one of the mirrors lining the DJ booth. They looked good together. They _were_ good together. She made him good. He was the polar opposite of the man he had been nearly two years ago, spending almost every Saturday night at one club or another, looking for a lonely fuck, or a high – anything to stop the constant disconnect, the _not_ feeling.

He studied them in the mirror as they waited for their drinks, listening absently to Annie going on about how good this evening was making her feel. He hoped so. She looked God damned beautiful, and she deserved the world. She had surprised him when he'd arrived at her door that night, wearing leather leggings and an oversized royal blue sweater. He was worried he'd dressed too cheaply to match her, but they looked as they belonged together, he in dark jeans and a black v-neck tee.

Their drinks had hardly arrived when Annie stood in excitement. "Dance!" she exclaimed.

"Oh kay…" Mitchell stood, somewhat puzzled by her sudden need to join the other writhing patrons.

"No. D.A.N.C.E.! I've always wanted to dance to this song. So… yes, actually. Could we?"

With that, Mitchell was on his feet almost without a thought. If it made her happy… She took his hand and led him to the floor, her enthusiasm catching, and he couldn't stop himself from grinning at her like an idiot. She pulled him close to her before turning her back to him and writhing in just that way. Mitchell felt his head drop forward, his mouth clamping onto the exposed skin where her shoulder met her neck, and he saw the trails of water from the night before. And he was hot. And she was moving against him, and he suddenly wished all the people around them would go to hell. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her to him and restricting her movement at the same time. This way if they moved, they moved together and he could control – somewhat, at least – what she did to him with her body.

Before long the song was over and Mitchell was thanking God or an interior designer – whoever was responsible – for the dim lighting, as they walked back to their seats and their drinks. His eyes having been glued to Annie, he didn't notice that their previous seats had been taken out from under them.

"I'm sorry," Annie began, clearing her throat. "We were…"

"Mitchell?!" one of the women cut her off excitedly.

"What?" he answered dreamily, eyes still clamped on Annie.

"Mitchell, it's Lauren!"

"I'm sorry?" Annie questioned.

"Lauren?" Mitchell finally managed to inspect the owner of the previously disembodied voice in front of him.

"I'm sorry. Lauren? You must know Mitchell from… Where from, Mitchell?"

"Around," he answered noncommittally, a blank look shielding his emotions on the situation.

"And my name's Daisy," the curly headed beauty seated next to Lauren stood to introduce herself to Annie. "I didn't catch yours, Love."

Annie was too taken aback about Lauren to process the other girl.

"This is Annie," Mitchell supplied.

"Funny, we – none of us – have seen you '_around_' in a terribly long time," the first one went on, seeming to ignore Daisy and Annie all together.

"That's best, I think," he replied, leaning and reaching across the brunettes' laps for his and Annie's coats. "Annie."

"Yes, I think I'd like to go now."

"Fine."

"No, don't let us run you off, darlings," Daisy smiled. There was something sharp about her smile though, Annie thought. Like if you weren't careful she would cut her teeth on you. "We can find another spot. I think I'm due for a trip to the ladies' anyway. Lauren?"

"I'll call you, Mitchell," Lauren yelled as her friend led them away.

"Don't bother," he yelled back with ice in his voice.

"I'd still like to go now," Annie said quietly.

"What? Right," Mitchell shook his head as he turned away from the two women retreating across the loud, dark room. He took his glass from earlier and downed it in just a few gulps. "Let's go find us a cab."

"Who were they?" Annie finally spoke after a mostly silent cab ride, as they neared their neighborhood.

"Just some people I used to know."

Annie looked down to see his leg bouncing rapidly up and down, like a nervous tick.

"How did you know them?"

Mitchell turned his gaze from the car window to the woman beside him, then back again. He chose to keep his mouth shut.

It felt like the temperature had dropped notably in the taxi during the last five minutes of the trip. Annie exited the car silently as Mitchell paid, hearing the car door shut with a thud. Hurriedly, he jogged up the steps and into the front hall and heard the door slam shut upstairs.

"Annie!" he called on his way up to her flat. He opened the door and she was standing in her small kitchen, shoes kicked off by the door, putting the kettle on.

"How do you know them?" she asked again.

"They're people from my past, Annie. Jesus!"

"Why won't you tell me about them? About _her_?"

"For fuck sake, Annie! I don't go on asking you about your past, do I?"

"Well… maybe you should!" she shouted.

"Maybe I should, then!" he screamed back.

"Go on! Ask me! Ask me about my ex-fiancée," she began, tears now running freely down her cheeks. "Ask me about how he tried to kill me. How he… came after me over and over. How he snuck into my life and settled there like a _cancer_. Ask me about how he snuck into my parents' home, put a gun to their temples. And ask me about how he pulled the trigger."

Mitchell looked horrified, not only at the story Annie was finally letting free, but at the way he had brought it about. He strode further into the flat, hands held out in front of him. "Annie, stop," he pled softly.

"Ask how the house looked, Mitchell. Do you know who has to clean up after?"

He stood in front of her now and reached to pull her toward him. She pushed at his chest angrily, but it was little use. "Shh, hush now, sweetheart," Mitchell whispered into her hair as he held her tightly in his arms. She fell limply into him, sobbing in earnest now.

After about forty-five minutes, Annie was cried out, exhausted, and falling asleep in Mitchell's arms where he had moved them to the sofa. He picked her up as though she weighed little to nothing and carried her into the bedroom. He managed to pull her leggings off and covered her up still wearing her knickers and sweater. Thinking, rightly enough, that he was the last person she would want to see upon waking, Mitchell retreated down the stairs to his own flat, hoping against hope that George was spending the night at Nina's.

"Thank Christ." The flat was empty and he near paced a hole in the rug, trying – and failing – to calm down from the effects of his fight with Annie, and from seeing the girls once again. Then a thought popped into his busily buzzing brain.

"Oh, no." Mitchell sat on the couch and let his head fall into his hands. "Oh, fuck!"


	6. Chapter 6

_**In which we find out what really happened at the club last night, George plays mediator, and Mitchell tells a secret. I listened to a lot of Mumford & Sons (particularly 'Little Lion Man') and The Lumineers ('Stubborn Love') while writing this one. Enjoy!**_

* * *

It was mid morning when Mitchell finally wound down enough to pass out. He'd spent the night pacing the flat like a caged animal. The dishes were washed and put up, cupboard doors had been scrubbed, the fridge was spotless and the trash bin was full of jars of jellies and other condiments that had gone off.

He finally woke to use the toilet around three that afternoon and as he stepped into the hall he encountered George, sitting in the now very tidy living room, doing the crossword

"Mitchell?"

"Yeah," Mitchell answered groggily as he stepped into the loo. He left the door open a crack so George could shout at him as he pleased.

"I thought you'd be with Annie."

"No."

"It's just… I've not seen either of you today, so I thought… Mitchell?" George tossed the paper onto the coffee table. "Why is the house clean?"

"Because I cleaned it."

"But… you don't clean."

"Apparently I do," he answered as he flushed the bowl and began running the tap to splash cool water on his face. By now George was standing in the hall outside the washroom door.

"It's not just clean, Mitchell. It's spotless."

"You're welcome. Don't get used to it." Mitchell pushed past George into the hall and made his way to the kitchen to start the coffee.

"I thought you took Annie into Portland last night. What happened?"

"We had dinner and drinks after."

"And you still had time to clean the flat? Spotless?"

"I stayed up late, okay?"

"No. No. It is most certainly _not_ okay. You aren't telling me something." Mitchell remained quiet, preparing his cup of coffee, sweetening it beyond what was usually called for, though he felt he'd need the extra kick this… afternoon. "You, you, you… got high again, didn't you?" George stammered after a moment.

"_No_, George!" Mitchell nearly sloshed hot coffee onto the floor as he turned to face George's accusation. "Not… _intentionally_."

"Oh. My. _God_. In front of Annie?"

"Ya don't understand. It wasn't like that George. It's not my fault!"

"Bloody brilliant, Mitchell. At least the last time you took responsibility for your actions. I suppose we're beyond that now? Shall I call 'round to the clinics? See if anyone has a bed available for detox?"

"Will you… Just calm down, _won't you_? And listen?" Mitchell tried to keep the bite from his voice but he knew he'd be irritable and on edge for a good while now.

"Oh, yes. Forgive me. How rude of me. What load of bollocks have you got for me this time?" George stood, visibly shaking with anger, arms crossed and lips drawn into a tight line. But he'd closed his mouth now, waiting for Mitchell to speak.

"I'm so sorry, George," Mitchell began.

"So you are taking responsibility, then?"

"George, please?" His flat mate nodded, indicating Mitchell should continue. "I've gone back on my word to you _so many times_. And for that… I just can't apologize enough, George. And _every single time before_, it was my decision. It was something I chose to do. Not last night."

"What do you mean?" George asked, a hair calmer now.

"It was in my drink, George. It had to be. I was _fine_ at dinner. And when we ordered our drinks at the club, _I was good_, but… on the way home…" He shook his head.

"What _club_?"

"Lauren and Daisy were there and… they found me, and… _God_… and Annie! I've _so_ fucked things over with Annie. George, I know they were carryin', they all but said they were goin' to the loo to have a bump. I got our coats and I left as fast as I could."

"So, then… when was it they spiked your drink?"

"I don't know, but I downed it before I went to get a taxi."

"It was coke, then?" George asked.

"It was Lauren. And the flat is _clean_," Mitchell pointed out, throwing his hands up in defeat.

"Spotless… Yep, it was coke. Okay."

"Okay? This is not okay, George. What am I supposed to do about Annie, about last night?"

"We asses the damage. And, Mitchell, I swear to _God_, if you are lying to me…"

"I'm not." George looked as sternly as he could at Mitchell. "I'm not, George. I'm not, I swear."

"What exactly happened, then? After…?"

Mitchell sat heavily down in a chair at the small kitchen set. With his head in his hands, he recalled to George all he remembered of the evening and the fight that ended in Annie's tears, ashamed to relive it so soon and reopen a still raw wound.

George was quiet for such a long time after Mitchell finished speaking, he was afraid his friend had been so disgusted he'd stood up and left the room. When he looked up it was to see George's sad eyes.

"It's like a traffic collision that you can watch happening, but you can't do anything to stop it happening," George declared. "I knew…"

"Please don't say 'I told ya so', George. I really don't think I can take that right now."

"I won't say it." He stood from where he'd been sitting across from Mitchell and pushed his chair in.

"Where are you goin'?" Mitchell asked.

"To asses the damage, Mitchell."

* * *

"Did Mitchell send you?" Annie asked as she opened the door to a stupidly grinning George.

"What? No! No! Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"George, you're a terrible liar."

He looked down and noticed Annie had her bag on her shoulder. "Were you going out?"

"That's right. And you might as well come along," she said, nodding.

"Where are we going?" George asked, stepping backward as Annie stood in the hall locking her door.

"To the café."

"For tea? But you always make tea."

"For a beer." Annie buttoned her coat as she started down the stairs. "Come on George."

"It's four in the afternoon!"

They took up a seat at a small table in the back and George stepped to the bar to retrieve their drinks.

"Okay," Annie prompted when he returned. "What is it then?"

"I dunno. What is it?"

"We had a fight. You heard from Mitchell."

"The flat was spotless when I got home this morning," George confessed.

"Ah, brilliant. Why couldn't he have stayed upstairs and cleaned _my_ flat?"

"Trust me. You don't want to be around Mitchell when he's… like that."

"Oh, believe me, I have no intention of being around Mitchell like… like… that, again."

"Ever?"

"Did he tell you what he said to me?"

"Yes, he did, Annie," George sighed. "In his defense, he didn't know what he was asking."

"Oh!" Annie almost shouted across the small table at George, causing patrons to turn at the sudden commotion, small though it was. "If you believe for a second that _I_ believe you didn't tell him about my family, then you are more, more, more… _naïve_ than I am."

George's ears began turning a bright scarlet. "But, but… how…?"

"Nina."

"She wouldn't break my confidence."

"Girls talk, George. Boys too, apparently. I swear, you and Mitchell are more the old married couple than you and Nina, or Mitchell and I." Annie shook her head and took a sip of beer.

"I only thought that he needed…" George stopped, realizing it had never been his place to tell Annie's story.

"He needed to know, and I should have been the one to tell him." A single tear slid down Annie's cheek as she turned to look out the café window. "But I wasn't ready to tell him yet. I was afraid I would fall apart. Like I did last night. _Oh God_."

"I'm so sorry, Annie. It wasn't my story to tell. Would you forgive me?" George asked, worriedly.

"Oh, I already have," she smiled. "I'm very gracious that way." They laughed together for a moment, both grateful for a lighter feeling creeping into their conversation. "I've forgiven him as well. For the bit about my family, anyway."

"What else was there?" George cringed inwardly. He had a good idea what her answer would be.

"Did Mitchell ever date anyone named _Lauren_?" she asked.

"Why?"

"Don't avoid the subject. Which is a yes, I presume? He ran into her last night. And another girl. A Daisy, I guess? Anyway, this Lauren girl was being very familiar with him. She seemed angry."

"It's been over between them for ages. Trust me when I tell you, Mitchell wouldn't voluntarily associate with those girls again," George assured her, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

"Oh, I believe you. He seemed quite upset by her. But she was practically humping him, marking him." She cringed at the thought. "And he wouldn't even tell me more than, 'they're people from my past'. I mean, what is that? What does that mean?"

"Oh, I _dunno_. Maybe he wasn't ready to talk about it."

"That doesn't mean I don't deserve…" Annie trailed off when she realized what George had _actually_ said.

"Deserve to know?" George supplied.

"Yeah," she said softly, embarrassed now. "Looks like we each owe the other an apology, then."

"Mitchell is very good at apologies," George smiled.

"Oh, is he?"

"He's had lots of practice."

"Maybe I should go talk to him?"

"Yeah," George nodded frantically. "He's going to fall apart otherwise. He's very fond of you, Annie. He cares about you _very much_."

"I love him too, George." George's face lit up like a bulb at that. "Thanks for forcing me to talk about it. Will you come back with me?" she asked as she stood to shrug into her coat again.

"No. Nina is off of work early tonight, and I am going to surprise her with shepherd's pie," he grinned as Annie leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you, George."

* * *

Mitchell had taken up a post by the front window since he noticed Annie and George leave almost an hour ago. As the minutes ticked by, he had trouble deciding whether it was in his favor or not. He'd finished most of his lesson planning for the last of the semester, though he flipped back and forth through the syllabus to keep his fingers busy.

"Ah, sod it," he said, finally tossing the binder to the floor. He stood and made his way to the bookcase, moving George's English to Mandarin dictionary aside and swiping a smoke from his emergency stash. The sun was setting and he was sure to grab his sunglasses before making his way to the front porch with lighter and cigarette in hand.

As Mitchell stepped out into the world, he felt the chill in the air and almost turned back to grab his coat, but thought better of it. A quick smoke in the cold might serve to numb his mind for at least a few moments. He pulled the door shut behind him and glanced up with a start as he meant to bring the smoke to his lips.

"Annie…"

"Hi," she said meekly, standing at the bottom of the steps.

"Hello," Mitchell gulped.

"Mitchell…" she began.

"No. Annie. I just have to say this first and then I'll go."

"Go where?"

"Back inside… or, I could go out. Probably a good job I don't though." Annie only shook her head, a little confused, in response to that; but Mitchell hedged on. "I just wanted to say how sorry I am, Annie. I am so, _so_ sorry. I have absolutely just fucked this up, haven't I?" He tucked his cigarette behind his ear and raked his fingers through his tangled hair as he stepped forward and sat down on the top step. "I have, just this entire _mountain_ of regret sittin' on my shoulders. You have _no idea_ how much I wish I could go back to last night and do _everything_ different."

"But you can't go back, Mitchell," she said, moving up the steps toward him.

"No. How well I know that." He shook his head guiltily. "I understand if you need me to go. For a night. For a weekend… Or longer," he gulped, looking into her eyes for the first time since he saw her on the street.

"I don't want you to go."

"You don't?"

"No, Mitchell." She shook her head as she reached a hand out to him, inviting him to stand. "I don't."

"Why don't you?" he asked, hesitating to take the hand she was offering. "After I provoked you? Lied to you?"

"Yes, well… we should talk about all of that," she nodded. "Though I'd rather do it _inside_."

"Okay."

She led them through the door and into the boys' flat, toeing her shoes off and making directly for the kettle. Mitchell deposited his sunglasses and un-smoked cigarette on the table by the door, before slumping down onto the sofa. He wondered, was this how the little shite delinquents felt as they waited for Principle Wyndham to deal with them?

"I had a beer with George, you know?"

"Did you?" Mitchell was answering by wrote now, waiting for the bottom to fall.

"Yeah. George is a very good friend. To both of us."

"He is."

"I asked him about Lauren."

That captured his attention and his head shot 'round to gaze at Annie, standing in the kitchen, preparing the tea. "What did he tell you?"

"That she was a part of your life that you might not be able to tell me about just yet. And I told him that that didn't mean I hadn't the right to know." Mitchell dropped his head into his hands, now feeling trapped, and guilty for feeling so. "The thing is, that would be more than a little… _two-sided_ of me."

"What?"

"You were right last night. Though you were _a first rate dick_ about it." Annie was quiet a moment, letting her last barb sink in. "Everyone is entitled to keep their secrets. Yours, no less than mine." She settled onto the sofa next to Mitchell, handing him his cup of tea.

He placed the mug on the coffee table and reached out for Annie's empty hand. "I need to tell you somethin'…"

"No you don't," she interrupted him. "Not now. Not after this." She placed her mug next to his and took his face into her hands. "I'm sorry as well, Mitchell." He leaned closer and closed his arms around her small waist, pulling her closer to him. She buried her face in his tangled mass of dark curls. "You'll tell me when you're ready to."

"_Oh, Annie_." He let out a breath he felt he'd been holding since she left the house with George more than an hour ago. "What I needed to tell you was that _I love you_."

"I forgave you, Mitchell. You don't have to bargain," she scoffed, a little insulted.

"Not kiddin', Annie. I want there to be no confusion. I wanted to say it the other night. When you asked me, what was I thinkin'. _I love you_."


	7. Chapter 7

**_In which the Thanksgiving feast occurs, secrets are being told (or not), and Mitchell's past comes back to *bite* him._**

* * *

"Annie."

"Mmph…"

"Annie. Wake up, Love."

"…time is it?" Annie asked as she turned onto her stomach in an attempt to block out the light streaming in from the hallway.

"Nine-thirty."

"It _has got_ to be earlier than _that_," she mumbled into the sheets.

"No," Mitchell chuckled. She could hear the smile in his voice, almost regretting that she wasn't seeing it. "It's Thursday morning. And if you don't get out of bed in three minutes, George'll be standin' here in my place, draggin' you up by yer eyelashes."

"You paint a pretty picture."

"Mitchell! Is she awake yet? I need the oven upstairs preheating."

"Make that one minute," Mitchell corrected himself. "I know it's not _your_ tea," he said as he set a mug down on his bedside table. "But like I said…"

"George," Annie finished.

"Right. George. I'll try to head him off long enough for you to get dressed."

Annie felt the bed depress as he braced himself with his hands to either side of her and leaned over to place a kiss between her bare shoulder blades. "Thank you," she sighed.

"Good morning! Beautiful lady," George greeted her as she emerged from Mitchell's bedroom.

"Oi!" Mitchell shouted at his flat mate as he wrapped his arms around Annie's waist. "Your girl's on her way, Georgie-boy. Hands off mine."

"Nina, may be on her way, but she is _not_ lending me use of her oven."

"Is that what the kids are calling it theses days?" Nina broke in from her place in the front doorway.

"Hey!" Mitchell greeted.

"Hi, Nina," Annie smiled.

"Let me help you with those!" George insisted, rushing to her side.

"Morning," Nina answered them all as George took the box of various serve ware from her hands.

"George has sort of _high jacked_ my Thanksgiving meal," Annie said as she reached Nina for a hug.

"One _small_ turkey, a pan of dressing and a pecan pie. Annie, I am not _high jacking_. I am _augmenting_."

"Yeah, whatever, George."

"Annie," Nina asked quickly. "Why don't I help you get all of that food upstairs and into the oven?"

"Ah, alright. Thanks. George wants to eat by two, so… What are we cooking upstairs, George?"

"The pies and the dressing. I'll go and get them."

"I'll help you ladies up with it all," Mitchell smiled.

"Thanks…" Annie began.

"No, Mitchell, really. We've got it," Nina interrupted. Then she turned to Annie and mouthed, _girl time_.

"Oh, yeah, Mitchell. We got it." Annie leaned up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "Stay and have some boy time with George."

"Yeah. Sure," Mitchell said before kissing Annie on top of her dark curls. He shot Nina a troubled look but said nothing about it.

The girls trudged up the stairs with their pans and pie plates in silence. Once Annie nudged the door shut behind them and discarded the food onto the kitchen counter, she expected the quiet to stop, to fade into some frantic story or explanation, at least a few words from Nina. But the other woman was silent, searching Annie's cupboards for a teacup and tea bags.

"Here. Nina, sit down," Annie instructed as she moved into the kitchen and began organizing the production of a _proper_ cup of tea. "I suspect we could both use a real cup'a."

"Yeah," Nina agreed breathily as she pulled out a stool from Annie's small bar and took a seat.

"Now. Are you going to start this 'girl talk', or does that burden land on me, hmm?"

"I, uh…"

Annie stopped what she was doing, going to stand near her friend who was clearly upset. "Nina? What's wrong?"

Rather than answering directly, Nina reached her hand down into her purse and rummaged about for a moment. Finally, she came back out with a square plastic disc in her hand. "This," she said, placing it on the countertop in front of Annie.

As she looked at the obviously offending object that Nina had produced, Annie's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in a little 'oh' of surprise. "Is that…? Nina, that's _two_ lines, isn't it?"

"Um, yeah."

"Are you…?" Annie reached forward and squeezed her friend's hand, not sure what the appropriate reaction should be now.

"Last night I was only late, and this morning… Well, apparently, I'm pregnant."

"You don't seem… pleased."

"I don't know what to be. I'm sure it's not pleased," Nina sighed and then motioned to the kettle, that Annie should finish making their cup of tea.

"Well, that's just not true," Annie insisted as she stepped back toward the stove. "I'm sure George will be ecstatic! This could be a wonderful thing for you both. Oh, and what a Christmas pressie, yeah?!"

"No. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I know it. I can feel it, Annie. This is wrong."

* * *

"That was weird."

"What was?" George asked as he stood at the counter dicing brussel sprouts.

"Nuthin'," Mitchell answered sullenly. He wouldn't interfere with whatever was going on here. He had a knack for fucking shit up that had nothing to do with him. Just then, his text notification went off, singing in his pocket. He pulled his phone out and glanced at the screen. "I'll be a bit," he excused himself to George before stepping out into the back garden.

The text had been from a number he didn't recognize and said only '911'. He dialed the number and lit a cigarette as he waited for an answer on the other end.

"That was quick, Love." The voice was Daisy's Scottish slur.

"It doesn't sound like an emergency," Mitchell answered angrily. He'd simply deleted the girls' numbers, along with a few others, when he'd finally put them behind him last year. Her call was the last thing he'd been expecting.

"Oh, but it is."

"Yeah, and I'm hangin' up now, Daisy. Don't bother me again." He tapped the end button on his phone and shut off the power all together.

* * *

"God, _no_," Nina protested George's offer of a second piece of pie. "I'm positively full to _bursting_. I can't possibly think of eating anything ever again after that."

Annie shot her a disbelieving look. Just this morning, as the pies were baking, she'd expressed a craving for jalapeños.

"Well, it was the best Thanksgiving meal _I've_ ever had."

"Have you actually had _any other_ Thanksgiving meal?" Annie asked Mitchell incredulously.

"There was one, yeah. Year before last… I think."

"We've never done this before, Mitchell. And we've lived together since Uni," George pointed out helpfully.

"It was a late super with… some people I knew." Annie shifted in her seat next to him, sensing his unease. "Really late, as it was. And I'm pretty sure it consisted of mainly booze and pie."

"So this really is your best Thanksgiving meal," Nina offered cheerily.

"Speaking of booze and pie…" Mitchell stood and walked back to the kitchen to retrieve the pie and a bottle of wine.

"Well, _I'm_ really glad we all got to do this, spend the day together. As a _family_," Annie emphasized the final word as she looked pointedly at Nina. They had gone back and forth for nearly an hour on the subject of her telling George – when, how, why, and would it even matter – before Mitchell's curiosity had got the better of him. He walked in on the two women arguing like he'd never seen since they had known each other.

_"Because, I'm telling you Annie – and trust me, for god sake! – it isn't meant to happen like this."_

_"How can you know that Nina?"_

_"I just… I know. I know."_

_"George wanted to know what went into the oven first," Mitchell spoke, announcing himself as he stepped forward into the flat._

_"No, he didn't," Nina said as she jumped down from her perch on the countertop. "He texted me earlier. I'm going down." She gathered her purse and swiped the little square test off the counter as she headed toward the door._

_"Nina, wait." Annie sprinted after her friend and embraced her tightly. "It's going to be fine."_

_"Yep," Nina said unenthusiastically. "I'll see you down there."_

_"What was that all about?" Mitchell wrapped his arms around Annie as she passed him on her way into the kitchen. He led her to the couch and sat her down next to him._

_"Nothing." She sounded deflated compared to this morning. "Girl…"_

_"Girl talk. Yeah. I got that." He took Annie's hand in his and looked into her eyes searchingly. Then it hit him. "Annie… You're upset."_

_"I'm _not_." Mitchell raised his brows at her. "Well… a bit."_

_"Is it because Nina's pregnant?" Mitchell watched Annie's mouth drop and close again, slowly, a look of shock pasted over her normally lighthearted features._

_"How…?"_

_"There are few things more upsetting between female friends than when one of them is pregnant and the other isn't. And when one _is_, she's usually not the one who _wants_ to be. Then there was the 'girl talk', which usually means 'I need to talk about a sexual thing'. That, and I saw her grab that test off the countertop."_

_"How do _you_ know what a pregnancy test looks like?"_

_"Jesus, Annie! That's what you got from all of that?"_

Mitchell made his way back to the table with the pecan pie tin, three glasses and a bottle of desert wine.

"And, _who's_ abstaining?" George asked quizzically.

"Oh, I only found three, sorry," Mitchell answered as he began pouring into the glasses. George stood and made his way into the kitchen to check for the fourth glass.

"It's right here, Mitchell. Are you going blind?"

"Oh, it's alright, George. I'm already almost in a food coma. If I have anything to drink, you'd best haul me to the bedroom now." Nina shot an irritated look at Mitchell, who shrugged, and then an accusatory look toward Annie, who mouthed _sorry_.

True to her word, Nina passed out on the sofa early that evening as they all sat round watching Dr. Who on Netflix. George carried her to his bedroom and came out long enough to get a load of dishes in the wash before going back to join her himself.

"Upstairs?" Mitchell asked as Annie began folding up the throw blankets strewn about the room.

"Yeah. Sure. Fine," she answered without making eye contact.

"I'll be up there."

When Annie made her way up to her flat, Mitchell was busying himself by making a cozy nest of her living room. All of the pillows from the bed and her favorite quilt that her gran had made, every soft throw (and a few stuffed animals, too) now resided on her small couch. The coffee table had a small assortment of candles burning furiously, and there were candles lit in the now non-operational fireplace.

"What's all this, then?"

"This…" Mitchell gestured to the pile of fluff. "Is a safe haven."

Unquestioning for the first time since she woke up that morning, Annie toed off her shoes and sprinted the few paces to her living room, jumping into the pile of pillows and blankets like a carefree child.

"That's perfect, now," Mitchell said, smiling at the worry melting off of Annie's face as she sank, fully relaxed, into his 'safe haven'.

"I think it's missing something."

"What? A cup'a tea?" Mitchell chuckled.

"No." As she said the word, her voice low now, she reached for the hem of her sweater, pulling it up exposing her flat belly. Mitchell stepped forward, mouth almost watering at the sight of her teasing.

"Not so innocent as all of that, then?" he asked, inching achingly closer, matching her teasing for good measure.

"Nope." Annie had left the sweater, moving her hands back down across her lower belly toward the button closure of her jeans. One by one, she slowly unbuttoned the three buttons, moving her hands to her hips and beginning to slide the fabric down her legs.

Mitchell, unable to hold himself back any longer, reached his hand out to stop hers. "That's for me to do," he said gruffly.

"I'll have to keep my hands busy some other way, shall I?" She found her new task in unbuttoning Mitchell's fly as he pulled her jeans down the length of her legs frantically.

Her knickers hit the floor and his boxers were tangled with his jeans around his ankles, both still clothed from the waist up. Neither cared as he entered her suddenly, wrapping his arms under hers, hands coming round to grip her shoulders, pulling her closer into him. He had been taking her like this again and again since their fight last week. Like he might lose her at any moment. Like he had to claim her. It made her blush to think, _this means I'm his_. Blush though she might, she decided she liked it.

They lay together in the heap of blankets, comfortable in each other's arms and their mutual silence. Annie wasn't sure how long they lay like that before Mitchell began dis-entangling the pile of discarded clothes from the blankets, making it somewhat resemble what it had started as – their safe haven.

"Are ya cold?" he asked as he tucked the old quilt more tightly around their bodies. Both of them wore only underwear and their shirts from the day.

"No. I'm cozy, here with you."

"D'you wanna talk, then?"

"About what?" she asked as she snuggled closer into his chest. It made him feel uneasy, and confused that he should feel that way.

"About… anything. About earlier this week?" She shook her head in response to that. "About earlier today?"

"It isn't my place, Mitchell." She sighed heavily.

"I know… I know, but it bothers ya, and that is somethin' you need to work out."

"She says it isn't right."

"Annie…" Mitchell steeled himself for what lay beyond the very ominous door he was about to open. "Dou you…" he stopped and cleared his throat. "D'you want ta have a baby?"

"Well…" She was still recovering from the shock of it. As good a man as he was, Annie had never expected Mitchell to be the type to want children. And maybe talking it out now would be less painful than finding out later. "Well, not this minute, no."

He chuckled, relaxing a bit, and kissed the top of her head. "Me either."

Now Annie was the one to tense. "Not now, or not _ever_?"

"I've thought about it. I dunno. You have to be with the right person…" He trailed off speaking as a terrifying thought occurred to him. What if Annie was that right person?

"Yeah." She sounded more relaxed, but a little disappointed as well. "Do you think George is the right person for Nina?"

"I suppose we'll find out soon enough. She has to tell him sooner or later."

"Yeah, see… That's the thing. I'm afraid she won't." Annie shook her head sadly. And though Mitchell knew it was none of his concern, that he should stay out of it lest he fuck things up even worse, he hated seeing Annie struggle.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"She says it's not happening right. And I'm sure tons of mothers feel the same when they find out – nothing always goes to plan, you know? But she says it's deeper than that. Like… since she found out this morning… she says the world doesn't feel real. Mitchell, I'm scared for her."

"Life has been feelin' surreal for us all a little lately, eh?" he asked as he ran his fingers soothingly through her hair.

"How do you mean?"

"Like a bad trip," he mumbled to himself.

"I've never been high, sorry… can't relate."

"I could… try to explain it to you," he offered hesitantly.

"Is that your secret?" she asked, turning slightly to be able to see him better. "Did you smoke marijuana?"

"Awe, _God_, Annie!" Mitchell laughed painfully at her naivety of his true nature.

"Worse than pot?" she asked.

"Tip of the iceberg." As he said it he watched the corners of her mouth paint her face with a frown. If he was going to see that look on her face, he might as well have it over and done with. "Listen, I need to tell ya somethin'. I've done such things. Such terrible, unforgiveable things. And… I need to tell you."

"No you don't."

"I need to do this."

"Mitchell, Listen," Annie silenced him. "I know who you are. I've known from day one. And the things you've done in your past don't change the kind of person you are now. And that's the man I know. That's the man I trust. That's the man I love."

"Do you forgive me?"

"Oh, shhh," she hushed him as she ran her fingers through his hair, inching forward to place a chaste kiss to his lips.

Feeling her body, warm and soft next to him, Mitchell pulled her closer, resting his chin against her shoulder, holding her, that she might never slip away. He pulled back after a moment to search her eyes for any lingering signs of doubt. But what he saw was only a bittersweet longing – like knowing you were only allowed your prize in the moment, and when the moment was gone, well…

He dove into the next kiss with a longing as though he'd been missing her for years, always just passing, but never touching until this moment.

And as he deepened the kiss, there was a knock on Annie's door.

"Oh, Jesus!" He gasped, laughing lightly.

"I know," Annie giggled in agreement.

"Who is it?" he asked her.

"I don't know. The only people who ever come looking for me are you and George."

"I'll get it, then. It must be George." Mitchell stood and straightened his henley, pulled his jeans back on, and trudged reluctantly to the door as Annie proceeded to make herself more presentable for company.

"It's me," George's voice accompanied a second knock.

"Yeah," Mitchell answered as he unlatched the door. "Not a good time, mate." He was greeted with a stern expression on George's face, and someone standing in the hall behind him with a mass of curly brown hair.

"No. Not _at all_. Not a good time for me either. You have visitors."


	8. Chapter 8

_**In which... well, in general, the shit starts to hit the fan.**_

* * *

"I'll just be a minute," Mitchell called back into the flat before stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him. "What the fuck are you doin' here?" he shouted around George at the woman standing just at the top of the landing.

Daisy took a surprised step back at Mitchell's outburst and nearly toppled backward, catching herself on the railing instead. George placed a warning hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to calm the situation.

"I'm not any happier that they're here than you are, Mitchell, but..."

"They?!"

"Lauren's downstairs," George confirmed.

"With Nina? _Ah_, what'd ya let 'em in for anyway?" Mitchell barked out as he passed George and Daisy, taking the stairs two at a time.

"If you'll let me explain..."

"Yeah?" Mitchell bit back.

"They weren't leaving and I thought we'd rather not have the cops 'round the flat at this hour of the night."

"Where is she?" Mitchell was halfway through the door to their flat by this time and the first person he encountered was a very angered, five-foot short blonde, with a serious frown on her face.

"Oh. So nice of you to join the party."

"Not now," he answered dismissively. "_Where?_"

"Oh, I thought I'd serve them a spot of tea in the garden. How many sugars?" Nina asked sarcastically, turning to Daisy.

"Don't get _fucking snappy_ with me. I don't want them here any more than you do!"

"Don't you two start," George butted in as calmly as possible. "Mitchell, we laid her out on your bed - she could hardly walk. Nina, he's going to get them out of here. Why don't you go back to bed?"

Mitchell had taken off for his bedroom and didn't make out Nina's no doubt scathing response. He felt Daisy trailing behind him and it was just as well. He wanted to make it perfectly clear to both of them. Mitchell waited until Daisy had entered the room before he shut the door, rather more forcefully than necessary.

"Explain. You're in my home. With my friends. You're not welcome here."

"I didn't know what else to do," Daisy rushed to begin. Tears started filling her lower lids and Mitchell desperately wanted to remain angry, so he looked away, began pacing as she continued speaking. "We were at a party just north of here. The next town over. She'd had a bit too much, ya know, and she was startin' to have a bad trip."

"She looks pretty mellow to me," he interrupted.

"Someone said they could give her somethin' to calm 'er down. And, well..."

"Heroin?" Mitchell asked as he stopped pacing, moving immediately to his bedside to check Lauren's pulse.

"I think they may have overdosed her. Her pulse has slowed way down and she was barely coherent on the way here... And now look at her."

"Well, she's alive. Why didn't ya take her to hospital?"

"I can't... do that, Mitchell. I'm on probation and Lauren hasn't even got a visa."

"Oh, _perfect_. I've got fugitives in the flat!" He threw his hands up in defeat. "And what do you expect me to do for her? I'm no doctor, Daisy."

"Just help me get her through the night, Mitchell. That's all I ask." He looked at her with contempt and a cold air. "Please."

"One night."

"Thank God," Daisy sang as she threw herself at him.

Mitchell shrugged out of her embrace in annoyance. "Are ya holding?" She hesitated speaking. "Ya are, aren't you?! _Christ_! Will ya not fuckin' learn?"

"You're not one to be lecturing, _Big Bad John_." She hardly noticed when he clutched the side of his head in pain. "How many times did you relapse? All that wasted effort! At least I don't lie about who and what I am!"

"You can stay or you can go, Daisy," he said, shaking his head to clear it. "But I'll not have that shite in my flat. And I won't have her here alone. Your choice."

"Screw you and your shitting moral high horse," she said as she rummaged in her jacket pocket. She pulled out a small glass vial of white powder and shoved it into Mitchell's hands. "Only had a wee bit left anyway."

Mitchell took the vial and shot across the hall to dump the contents into the toilet.

"Fucking waste," he heard Daisy mumble from his bedroom.

When he emerged again, he found George, Nina and Annie sitting on the sofa.

"Nina has been telling me _all about_ the excitement," Annie piped up as he walked into the living room.

"Yeah. I... I don't think I can sleep over tonight, I've... got a bit of a problem I have to deal with just now."

"_Oh_?" Annie asked, a bit caught off her guard.

"I'm sorry. What's going on?" Nina asked, acidly.

"Lauren's... sick. And they haven't anywhere else to go." Mitchell rung his hands together nervously as the three looked him up and down in disbelief.

"I don't... I can't even..." Nina trailed off in frustration.

"Oh thanks for the, 'Oh no, George. I wouldn't want to ruin your holiday, so I've told them to jog on.'"

"George," Mitchell moved closer to speak lowly to his friend. "She could die."

"So call them an ambulance, she should be in the hospital!"

"George, I wouldn't be doin' this if there were anyplace else they could go. Please."

"I am not staying here with two junkies in this flat," Nina broke in.

"The two of you can stay in my flat." All three heads turned to stare at Annie in surprise. "Just don't be bothered by the mess in the living room."

"Annie... we couldn't..." George began.

"No. You can. And you'd better hurry to sleep. You have both got work tomorrow."

"Yes. I have to open the restaurant in, oh, only seven hours. And it's an hour drive there. And I need to be there early to prep..."

"C'mon, George." Nina interrupted him, taking him by the arm and leading him out to the landing. "Thank you, Annie. Be careful with them."

"Yeah."

Daisy emerged from the hallway as the front door shut on George and Nina. "Oh. Got the flat to yourself with three women, eh, Big Bad John?"

"Back," Mitchell ordered, walking her back to his bedroom. Annie stood in the middle of the flat, looking very confused.

When he left the room and the two women behind, Mitchell found Annie rummaging aimlessly through the kitchen cupboards. "Hey," he said, catching one of her hands in his. "Come and sit down with me."

"What's going on, Mitchell?" Annie asked as he led her to the sofa. "For real this time."

"Lauren... She's sick. And..."

"Is she OD'ing?"

He gave her a surprised, somewhat horrified look, his mouth open in mid-thought.

"I'm not as stupid as I look," Annie went on. Mitchell shook his head at her words. Of course she wasn't stupid and she didn't look it. "And you didn't exactly keep your conversation volume down earlier."

"Look," he finally spoke, shaking his head. "I just have to make sure she makes it through the night. Then I'll send 'em on their way. Then this whole thing'll be over and we can get back to our life." Mitchell patted her hand as he began to stand and head back to the bedroom.

"One more question."

"I'll do my best to answer it if I can."

"Why did she call you that? Twice. Your name isn't John. Daisy... she called you Big Bad John, twice."

"I... honestly don't know."

"I know you, Mitchell."

"Annie, I don't know why." His face became blank, but for his eyes, pouring out all manner of emotion.

"No, don't. Don't do that, Mitchell. Don't put your mask on, I can see through it."

"There's nothin' to see." With that, Mitchell turned on his heels and went to gather some things from the washroom. Cool, damp cloth, towels and a trash bin, just in case. He returned to his bedroom to find Daisy knelt down beside the bed, holding Lauren's hand. "Any change?" he asked quietly.

"No."

"She might spike a fever. Vomiting's a possibility as well." He handed over the damp cloth and bin. "And towels, just in case."

"Won't you stay?"

Mitchell glanced at the door with the rest of the flat and Annie beyond it. "Why'd you text me, Daisy?" She looked up at him, aghast, then back to her friend without a word. "You called me hours before any kind of party like that would have started. She couldn't have been in trouble by then. But you contacted me. Nine one one, you said. What's really going on?"

"Ivan… and Herrick." Mitchell whipped his head around in response to that name. "Herrick, he… he wants you back, Mitchell. He wants you to start sellin' for him. Lauren, when she told me what she did the other night, spiked your drink… I slipped. I told Ivan. She's his baby sister, Mitchell. He'd never allow Herrick to use her like that. But_ Herrick_ would. To get you back, even if it broke her heart."

"And what am I supposed to do about all of that? That isn't my life anymore," he dismissed her story, carefully donning his mask again.

"It will always be a part of your life. For better or worse, it's who you were for a very long time, Mitchell. And Herrick… he gets down deep inside of you. He twists you up at the core – twists your soul. He threatened to cut Lauren off if she wouldn't help him with you. And now look at her."

"Ivan's going after Herrick, then…"

"I was trying to warn you. There's bound to be collateral damage, Mitchell."

Mitchell fell asleep in his desk chair and Daisy dozed on the floor. Annie walked in a few hours later with tea for them both, and fresh cool cloths for Lauren. She woke Daisy first, placing a gentle hand on her wrist. "Drink this."

"Oh, God. My pissing head," Daisy moaned, taking the warm cup from Annie's offering hand.

"Thought about that too. Aspirin." Annie dropped the small white tablets onto the bed where Daisy's other hand still clasped Lauren's. "You care very much for her, don't you?"

"She's my sister-in-law."

"And she and Mitchell…"

"They were an on-again, off-again item. Until last year when they were suddenly permanently off-again."

"What happened between them?" Annie asked quietly, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Mitchell was still softly snoring.

"What didn't? Money, drugs, sex, fightin', more drugs. She was already usin' when she followed Mitchell over from England – they'd met in a rehab in Bristol. But he got her in really deep here with his dealer – our dealer now. And then he just up and decides one day that he's goin' a be clean again. Ivan and me – that's her brother – we have to come rescue her. And then up he turns again, like a prodigal son, prodigal lover. Only to leave again, let me an Ivan pick up the pieces. But good job he did. He's better off where he's at. He's livin' a real life, now, with real friends. Mitchell's a good man. He wasn't ever cut out for our kind of life…"

"Some would say I was made for it, yeah?" Mitchell spoke as he stirred restlessly in his chair.

"I'm going to use your loo," Daisy said as she stood, awkwardly, wishing to leave the two alone for a few moments.

"How is she?" Mitchell asked.

"She's still breathing," Annie answered, handing him his mug.

"Let me explain, please, Annie."

"Drug addicts go back and forth between sober and dependent so many times… there's no need…"

"Not about the drugs, Annie. About what I did to her." Annie sat on the floor in front of his chair, ready to listen. "I got away, finally – from the drugs and from my dealer – and I asked her to come with me. She did. We tried it on our own, and we realized – that draw between us… those drugs, those were the common denominator. They're what kept us together. There was no real love there, there never was. And she went back. I went back too, later. But I knew if I was going to get a real shot at this… this life, that I was trying to build with George… and later, with you… then I was going to have to cut ties with all of it. With every single person. And I did… this time around… this time I did."

"Oh, Mitchell…" Annie reached up to take his hand just as a gasp came from the bed beside them. "Oh, God! Oh, I think she's waking up!"

They both rushed to the bedside, Mitchell checking the girl's pulse. "It's steady," he said as she began tossing her head from side to side, weakly. "You stay with her. I'm gonna get Daisy."

"Yeah, of course."

Mitchell knocked quietly on the bathroom door. "Daisy."

"Yep, just finishing now." As she spoke, Mitchell heard a tale tell sniff between words. He turned the knob but it wouldn't give, so he put his shoulder against the door and shoved with all of his pent up anger. There Daisy stood, with another coke vial open in her hand.

"Hello, then. Care to join, maybe?"

Without a word, Mitchell grabbed Daisy by the arm and began dragging her out into the main part of the flat. Daisy laughed until Mitchell began to wrench her arm in a particularly awkward angle. He brought his face close to hers so as to keep his voice from carrying. "When she can walk again – _as soon_ as she can walk – I want you gone. I don't care what kind of coup Ivan has planned, or what grand expansion scheme Herrick has dreamed up. I don't care if she speedballs again tomorrow night. Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't show your fookin' face on my fookin' doorstep!"

"Jesus, Mitchell. Let me go," Daisy whined.

"You've no idea what it has cost me to get here. What I've been through. To be here, with her. To be happy – both of us, happy. And George and Nina… You can't know. And you won't ruin it. I would take a t'ousand stakes to the heart before I let you, or Lauren, or Ivan, or Herrick ruin it all over again." He released her arm and shoved her across the living room. "So pack your shit, sweetheart. You're friend's awake now and you'll both be gone as soon as she's on her feet."


	9. Chapter 9

**_In which the 'unaccounted for time' during the last chapter is accounted for (and in which other... information is revealed (or alluded to)). _**

* * *

"I know Annie said don't, but I've nearly managed the mess in the living room. Nina?" George poked his head into the bedroom, seeking out his girlfriend. "Nina, where've you got to?"

"In the loo," he heard her call from the washroom. "Nearly done, I'll be out in a minute and we can get to bed again."

"Right. Just when I need a pee," George mumbled to himself. After a few more minutes, she still hadn't come out. "You alright in there?" George called.

The door clicked open and Nina made her way to the bed. "I'm absolutely knackered. Sometimes I think I'll never be truly awake again."

"You just need a rest, you. Let me hold you while you fall asleep."

"George, you know I kick," she warned, mumbling into the pillow.

"Right… I'll go have a pee first. That way I won't wet the bed when you start pummeling me," he grinned as Nina began chuckling softly.

"Thank you, for that _beautiful_ mental picture, baby."

George stood in Annie's washroom rinsing his hands under the tap and yawning furiously when a glint of foil paper from the trash bin caught his eye. He turned the tap off and leaned over to inspect the paper, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

"No, no, no, no, no. Please, no," he babbled as he pulled the offending item from the bin. He held the plastic stick up so he could read the results. "Oh, God. It's, it's, it's, it's… it's positive. Again."

* * *

"There's nothin' to see." With that, Mitchell turned on his heels and went to gather some things from the washroom.

"Okay..." Annie mumbled as he disappeared back into the bedroom. She sat alone on the sofa, waiting for him to emerge again. And as she waited, her mind began to wander. The moldings were quite dirty, weren't they? And there was a rattle from the radiator every few minutes or so. Well, the moldings were the boys' problem, but the rad... she should call a plumber about that one before it started acting up like the one upstairs. Before she knew it, Annie was up and pacing, making lists of the upkeep that needed doing to the flats. "What are you doing?" she asked herself, scornfully.

Still, she couldn't stand the thought of being idle, now of all times. And fuck it all if she was going to be the one to go to him, after he'd so blatantly lied about being bothered by Daisy.

Annie moved into the kitchen to begin unloading the dishes for George. It would be a nice surprise for him in the morning, and she could think while she worked.

Big Bad John. What did it mean? And why wouldn't he talk about it? It had so obviously something to do with his past. Oh! Maybe he was an undercover officer of narcotics! Maybe that had been his cover name. And that was why he wouldn't speak about it...

No... No good. He was a teacher, not an officer.

As she was unloading the cutlery tray she reached in for a large utensil George had used for shredding parsley. "It's a mouli grater..."

Suddenly, Annie was overwhelmed by a profound need for tears. She sat at the kitchen set, mouli grater still in hand, and waited for the salt tears to sting her eyes... And nothing. Nothing happened. She just sat there, staring at that painfully ordinary object, wanting for all the world to cry.

"I'm going mad as a badger," she whispered to herself. Shaking her head she stood and tucked the grater into the utensil drawer, closed the dishwasher, and headed back to the sofa. "You just need a rest. It's nerves... that's all it is. And stress. Lie down for a little nap and everything will be brighter when you wake up."

She turned the tellie on at a low volume and curled up amidst throw pillows and afghans. Dreams might come, but what she really needed was a cuddle. Before long she was drifting.

_'Is this what an out of body experience is like?' she wondered._

_There she was... In a bed with Mitchell. He was lying on his back, she had draped her body over him. In Annie's opinion they were both wearing far, far too many articles of clothing. She took a moment to look about the room, see whether they were in her flat or his. _

_"That's nice," he said as she swiped her tongue around the shell of his ear. "It tickles a little bit."_

_It was definitely a 'Mitchell' room... Just not the room in his flat... Aside from the mess strewn about, there was a beautiful paisley wallpaper and a complementary wall of turquoise blue. Definitely not his flat._

_"How 'bout that?" she asked as she made her way down the line of his jaw with soft licks and kisses. _

_"Annie!" Mitchell moaned in frustration. _

_"Still nothing?"_

_"The questions aren't really helpin'."_

_"Maybe your jeans are too tight," she supposed with a frown. _

_"No! No, no. The jeans are fine. Just... Just go with the flow. Ya know?"_

_"Yeah." She began kissing him again, this time on the mouth. And then... "But who leads the flow?"_

_"No one. It's a flow," he answered tersely. _

_"Roger." Back to the kissing. And then..._

_"You know what? Could we... could we just cuddle for a little bit?"_

_"Awe, my God. Am I doing it really, really, really wrong?"_

_"No, no. I just think we should take it in tiny steps."_

_"Oh... Okay." Annie shifted in the bed and cuddled down next to Mitchell. _

_And suddenly, out-of-body Annie began floating away. Back to her own reality and out of this very strange dream, she supposed. But as she went, she saw a look of contentment on her own face, while at the same time, a look of fear graced Mitchell's._

_"_Tea." She said as she sat bolt upright on the sofa. "They could probably use some tea." She heard Mitchell's soft snore as she moved about the kitchen once more, preparing her peace offering of sorts.

* * *

"George?" Nina sat up groggily in bed as the lights flooded the room. "What's wrong?"

"Nina… I found this… um, in the bin." He held up the pregnancy test. "And I needed to know something. Because it can't be Mitchell's because he's a man, and it can't be Annie's because she can't have kids after what Owen… And… is this yours? Are, are you late?"

Nina sank back down onto the mattress, bringing her hands up to her face.

"I thought you were on the pill," George said, more calmly than Nina thought he had any right to.

"I am. It still happened though. Obviously."

"Are you… are you alright?" he asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Have you… felt anything… since you've known?"

"Well… tired. Is that what you mean?" Nina peeked out through her fingers at George. It was so surreal, this conversation. It wasn't how she'd imagined telling him. Nothing was how she'd imagined it lately. But maybe that was okay.

"No," George sighed. "No. It isn't."

"George…" She sat up and took George's hand inside of hers. "Are you… upset about this baby?" He wouldn't look at her, wouldn't answer her. "George…?"

"I'm upset, Nina, but not about the baby," he finally choked out. Nina realized the tears beginning to fill his eyes and it caused an overflow of emotion in her as well.

"Oh, God!" She swiped at her own eyes. "This is all so wrong."

"What do you mean?" George sniffed.

"Like déjà vu, but different. Like this has happened to me before, but this time it's wrong. Weird. I'm _pretty sure_ I've never been pregnant before…"

"Oh, shit, shit, shitting shit!" George burst out, shooting up from the bed.

* * *

Annie sat at the edge of Mitchell's bed, mopping Lauren's forehead with a damp rag. "He'll be back with Daisy in just a minute. Just wake up and smile you're beautiful smile at her, and everything will be set right by morning."

"Oww," Lauren moaned before starting to cough for a breath. "Why are you being nice to me?"

"What? Why… what?"

"You. You and Mitchell. You should hate me… he does." She reached up and pushed Annie's hand away from her face.

"He _doesn't_. And, and _I_ don't. Why should I? He's with me now – he loves me." Annie was beginning to feel a little threatened despite her bravado.

"Because of what _I _remind him of."

"No. Mitchell's made peace with his addiction. He's managed it."

"Is that what you think?" She was getting excited now, beginning to cough again. "Pretty girl. He like's pretty girls. There've been loads. There was Margaret, then Maggie – two different girls, mind. Abigail, Betsy, Joan, Katie, Celeste, Josie, Becky. There was me, can't leave _that one_ out. Then Lucy, and now… there's you."

"I don't need a list. We both have pasts," Annie shot back as soon as the other girl took a breath.

"Oh and those are just the ones _I_ know of. But, you know what? I didn't need the list either. I knew after the disaster that became of us. And this is a warning to you, pretty girl. He will use you up, and throw you away…"

"No!" Annie interrupted.

"Because that's what's become of him. It's all he knows anymore. It's all that he can do."

"No. No, Mitchell is a good man. You don't know him like I do." Annie stood from her seat on the edge of the bed and began backing up to the door.

"I know _so much more_ than you do right now. You have no idea… pretty ghost."

* * *

"Where is Mitchell?" Annie asked as she emerged from the bedroom, leaving a quietly chuckling Lauren behind.

"I don't know if he's even still here. He went out the _front_ door," Daisy said, sitting on the sofa, buckling her boots. "But I didn't hear the bike, so he could just be smokin', yeah?"

"Yeah," Annie whispered to herself as she turned to the front door. Then, thinking again, she turned to Daisy once more. "You ought to go and see to your friend. She's awake now, but I think she must still be feeling the drugs. She's speaking nonsense."

When she stepped outside onto the porch, she saw the hunch of Mitchell's shoulders down at the curb. He was sitting tensely with his back to the house, smoking frantically. Noting the chill in the air – it was more than a chill, really, it was late November – Annie shivered before stepping down to meet him. She sat next to him and ran her hand up and down his back soothingly.

"Why are you out front?"

"Yeah, sorry," he said as he exhaled a lungful of blue-grey smoke. "The house – the garden – they were beginin' to feel a bit… claustrophobic. Ya know?"

"Oh yes… I can certainly identify with that," she answered, folding her hands in her lap.

Mitchell turned his head sharply at her words, his jaw clenching and releasing without seeming to realize it. "Why? What happened?"

Annie shook her head. "Nope. You first."

"Annie!"

"I _asked _you first. Hours ago," she said accusatorily. "It's only fair."

"Nothin'… Daisy…" As Mitchell flicked his filter into the street and pulled out another cigarette he could actually _feel_ Annie's gaze on him. "She was in the toilet…" He took a moment to light up and puff. "Doin' a bump."

"A, a what? I'm sorry, I am unfamiliar with drug… vernacular."

"She was snorting a line, Annie. She was getting' high."

"I thought you made her give up what she had left!"

"Yeah, well… I shoulda known better, shouldn't I?" Mitchell clenched and unclenched his fist now, his jaw still going at it as well. "Fuckin', goddamn hell!" he cursed into the empty street.

"All right now. No need for that," she chastised.

"It's not gonna change things, Annie," he said desperately, stubbing his cigarette out on the pavement and taking her hand in both of his. "I told Daisy they need to leave. As soon as Lauren's on her feet, they're gone. If I have to physically remove them… it's done. I'm done. Thought I was done with this bullshit long ago…" he trailed off as though speaking to himself.

"I hate to sound inhospitable, but good. Good for you. Save's me the job."

"No. It's high time they left."

They re-entered the house, Mitchell embracing Annie from behind, trying in vain to warm her. The living room was empty and dark. "Were you sleepin' on the sofa?" he asked as he noted the untidy pile of pillows and blankets.

"I was," she nodded. "I had a dream."

He ducked his head close to her ear and whispered, "Did you dream of me?" sealing the question with a kiss. Mitchell pulled back as he felt her tense in his arms. "Annie?"

"I'll tell you about it… later."


	10. Chapter 10

_**In which we discover that **_**he knows****_ AND _****she knows****_! And some resolution in the form of fluff, lemons, sex, what-have-you. Good old fashion _****drama****_ (tears and everything)_**

(This is NOT the final chapter. A lot of explanation here, so I hope it flows well enough. Sorry for the delay and the shortening of this chap. I figured, 'better late than never'.)

* * *

"You seriously want me to give you a pass, now? After that 'I asked you first' line earlier? No go, sweetheart." Mitchell squared his shoulders and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, standing his ground in the middle of the living room. Annie only looked at him with suddenly tired eyes before dropping her head into her hands.

"Oooh, _why_? _Why_ now? _Why_ does it have to happen now?" she whined. Her outburst shook him visibly, and Mitchell dropped his defensive posture, immediately folding her into his arms once again.

Before he had a chance to see to it that she was all right, they heard the bedroom door swing open, followed by two sets of footsteps down the hall.

"No need to see us out," Daisy nearly spat. "We can find the door." She had her arm hooked around Lauren's waist, half supporting, half dragging the younger girl through the flat.

"Mitchell," Annie whispered as she nudged him towards the two women. "Help them."

Mitchell rolled his eyes but complied with her request, taking on half of Lauren's weight. "Where will you go?" He asked quietly, not wanting to pull Lauren out of whatever stupor had seemingly taken her over and kept her quiet.

"The fuck do you care?"

"Daisy… Let me call you a taxi," he insisted softly as they reached the front door.

"It's already done. He's here."

And as Mitchell glanced through the front window, he saw the brake lights of the yellow sedan idling at the curb.

"Be careful with her down the steps, yeah?"

"No, Mitchell!"

All sets of eyes landed on the slip of a girl still being supported by Daisy.

"_You_ be careful, yeah?" Lauren continued. "This place is just as much of a battlefield as the one before. You tried to hide here – to disappear here – you and your dog and your little ghost girl. But there are still those who're angry. They will hunt you. They will find you. And it will all come spiraling down."

"She's mad as a hatter," Daisy said as she steered her companion through the door.

Mitchell and Annie stood, speechless next to one another, watching the two through the window as they climbed into the awaiting taxi. As the cab drove away into the lightening morning, something struck Mitchell's mind with a sudden force. He turned slowly to face Annie who stood, fiddling with the hem of her jumper, still staring out the window.

"Annie?" He asked cautiously. She turned toward him at the sound of his voice and slowly trailed her gaze up the length of his body to land on his face.

"You know," she said with conviction as her eyes met his. "How long?"

"_You_ know?" he asked un-necessarily. He was certain she did.

"Since about and hour ago. She… she called me…"

"A ghost," Mitchell finished for her. Annie only nodded in silence. "Bloody hell."

"How long?" she repeated.

"Since Daisy said my name. _Big Bad John_. Not even sure she knew she was doing it…" Mitchell was staring off into the nothingness of memory, all of the pieces finally clicking back into place.

"Mitchell…"

"I promised you this wouldn't change anything," he whispered. "I've failed you again. That's all I'll ever do, Annie," he focused his gaze back on the woman he loved. "I'm poison for you. Why did you come for me? Why didn't you leave me here? Alone? And George came! Why?" he shouted, tears brimming his lower lids now.

"_I didn't_ come fore you!" At this point Annie's cheeks were wet, and the urgency and the shouting were brining up memories of another painful argument between them. "_I_ got my door again. _I_ only _hoped_ to find you, you… you beautiful, selfish, infuriating man! I had no idea it would be like this."

Mitchell swiped his thumbs below her eyes, letting his own tears trail down his cheeks slowly in contrast. "And George?" he asked, somewhat calmer now.

Annie closed her eyes, squeezing out fresh tears again. "I was all alone."

"Oh, Annie!" He pulled her closer to him, knotting his fingers into her deep brown waves.

"Nina… she was gone three months after, um… you," she choked out, swallowing hard, steeling herself to get through the explanation.

"The baby?" Mitchell cut in.

"Eve. A girl. A human girl," Annie said, allowing herself a soft smile. "But George… He died… protecting his daughter." She watched the pain cross over Mitchell's face at the realization that his death had not been able to prevent any of it. "And I became a mother… And you were _all _gone… All of you."

"Oh, _Annie_, _Annie_, _Annie_…" His heart was breaking in the face of her pain. What he wouldn't do to wipe it all away. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms about her waist, his head buried in her belly. "You were the strongest and the best of all of us, Love. No amount of heaven could ever repay you for that."

She swayed in his arms, shushing him as she ran her fingers through his hair. She could only think how wrong he was. She could feel every stand of his dark curls. She could smell him – that scent of cologne, and graphite, and cigarette smoke. And she knew without any hesitation that he could feel her as well.

"We can feel each other," she said quietly. "That's something."

"Yeah," Mitchell sniffed as he brought himself to his feet again. "Should we go and check on George and Nina? D'you t'ink they know?"

"I think," Annie began, glancing over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. "I think that it's near on six a.m. And I think that no matter what we know, I just want to lie down somewhere quiet for a bit, yeah?"

Mitchell nodded, "Yeah. Lets go to my room."

"No!"

"Why…?"

"Lauren and Daisy were in there. That kind of makes my skin crawl. Oh!" she added with a small smile, realizing the novelty of goose prickles.

"Then where?"

"Attic flat. It's not very tidy, but there's an old bed that's passing comfortable."

* * *

They lay in the old cast iron bed together, both mentally and emotionally drained. Annie stared up at the ceiling as Mitchell turned on his side and studied the lines of her face. He found his hand resting on her belly, and as he watched her inhale and exhale slowly - reveling in her awareness of the need to actually do so - he was enthralled by her. His hand crept beneath her jumper to feel her smooth, warm, taught skin - to actually feel it! She wasn't cold, she didn't tingle. She was something - someone - that he could hold in his arms. He needed to take all of her in.

As his hand cupped the side of her, feeling the barest outline of each rib, he leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. A smile crept at the corners of her mouth.

"Mitchell. Your hands are cold."

"That means ya can feel me." He moved down, kissing each of her eyelids as they fluttered shut. She let out a long, pleased sigh and he took it as leave to continue.

Lifting her jumper, he pulled it off over her head, taking in the sight of her. The smell of her. Her cheeks and breasts alike were painted with a ruddy blush, and he realized, there was no monster waiting inside of him to tear at her beautiful skin, to drink the blush away.

As he stopped to stare, she began unclasping her bra. Realizing their dilemma, Mitchell did away with his own shirt and jeans. Annie began pushing her pants low on her hips and Mitchell helped to guide them off the rest of the way.

Presented with her body in front of him, his mouth drew down to her breasts, first kissing the top swells, then torturously licking each nipple in turn, and finally caressing the bottom curve gently with his lips.

"I can smell you," he said, his voice rougher than he anticipated.

"Oh... God," Annie whispered nervously.

"You smell like... our sex… before. And tea," he added, smiling wickedly, feeling her relax again beneath him.

Mitchell's hands took up where his mouth left off as he drew the tip of his nose down her breastbone, between her ribs, and over her belly button, granting his mouth access to her hipbones. He nipped there, feeling her body pressing up and into him. With a sly smile, he pulled a hand away from her breast and listened to the blessed sound of her groaning in protest. Then, gently but swiftly, he slid his index finger into the core of her.

"Mitchell!" Annie exclaimed as her entire body nearly flew off of the bed.

He stilled his hands and lifted his head to see her staring at him in surprise. "Annie, we've done this before," he grinned, amused by her reaction.

"Not with all of our… pent up… unconsummated… pent up…"

"You said that already," he said, struggling not to laugh.

"Sex-delayed… chemistry," she finished, ignoring his quip. "Not knowing of all of _that_."

"Oh," he said matter-of-fact-ly. "Do ya want me to slow down?"

"_God _no!"

"Alright," Mitchell answered huskily. And as he began slowly moving his finger inside of her, he moved the rest of his body up her length until his head rested slightly below her chin. He kissed the hollow of her neck, keenly aware of the pulsing of her veins running so closely to the surface - and not giving the tiniest of fucks. As he grinned inwardly at that knowledge, he felt needy hands tugging at the sides of his head, urging him further up. "Oh, Annie."

She captured his mouth in a hungry kiss, before leveraging her body to the side, forcing Mitchell onto his back. His hands found her hips then, and he settled her on top of him at his waist, drinking her up with his eyes.

"I love you," she declared, voice quiet and desperate. Tears began brimming her lids as she settled on the overwhelming impossibility of it all, one of them finally trailing alone down a passion blushed cheek.

His instinct taking over at the sight of her crying, Mitchell shifted for position, bringing himself to sit upright beneath her. With the back of his hand he gently brushed the tear away from the skin it was marring.

"I told you before... all of this. And never doubt it, Annie!" He kissed her fiercely, quite literally taking her breath away, before going on. "No matter where we are, or _what... _this is, you are the love of my long life."

Gripping her hips in his hands again, he lifted her slightly, brushing against her opening. A smile spread over Annie's face in contrast to her still teary eyes, and she closed them as she turned her face up towards the ceiling.

"I will _always_ remember that," she breathed, salt lines now trailing down both cheeks.

Mitchell shifted her against him once again before pulling her fully down, feeling himself at home inside of her. They moved together, slowly at first, both needing the reassurance in that moment that this was real.

He kissed the tears from her face, tasting the salt on her skin, as she threaded her hands through his too-clean hair. Everything was the same and yet so much had changed. They were evolving. Or life was evolving around them. But it didn't matter as long as he was in her arms. Hadn't he paid enough for his sins? Hadn't she sinned enough to match him? It didn't matter, it didn't, it didn't.

"God, Annie."

She opened her eyes at Mitchell's words to see his shut tight. A look of peace she had never seen on him now touched his face.

"I've wanted you like this all these years." Their pace seemed urged on by his words until Annie felt she cold no longer hold herself upright in his arms. She collapsed into him at her peak as he began moving in a more erratic rhythm. She felt him let go inside of her as he gripped onto her waist with unnecessary force, as though he was never willing to let her loose again.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry about the absence. Broken knee, blah, blah, blah. And some of the "blah, blah" precipitated a lack of momentum. No good excuses, though. I won't keep you from it any longer.

Enjoy

* * *

"George, Love," Nina sat at the kitchen set in the boys flat, one hand on her head, the other on her stomach. "I really won't be eating _anything_, I promise you." George tutted as he changed out the batch of sausages in his skillet.

"Why? You still have to eat. Just because we know… what we know… doesn't mean you don't still have to eat."

"It doesn't mean we don't still have to work _either_, George." They had tossed and turned in Annie's flat as long as they could stand it, finally rising and calling in to the restaurant. George had made the call and Nina was pretty sure they had been fired – Black Friday and all. Rather than focus on what they had worked out last night, and still in a surreal sort of shock, Nina wanted action. She wanted to return to the normality of getting up and going to work. Of living.

"We'll figure it out, okay?" George brushed past her on his way to the stack of hash browns he'd cut earlier. "Fried eggs, hash browns, sausages, toast."

"Who are you feeding? The whole block? Might as well be in the kitchens at work…" Nina mumbled.

"Mitchell and Annie."

"And what about Mitchell and Annie? How do we know that they are _our_ Mitchell and Annie? What do we tell them? Hmm? What do we say?"

"Good morning," Mitchell said, clearing his throat as he stood in the entryway to the flat.

"Mitchell…" George stopped what he was doing mid-task, a handful of sliced potatoes in his fist.

"Annie's on her way down."

"Good, good," George gulped, not knowing what else to say.

"And we've got something to tell ya…" Mitchell shoved his hands into his pockets nervously before finally snapping to something. "Why aren't you at work? Ya never miss work, George…"

"That's what I'd like to know," Nina cut in.

"Because… what's the point?" Mitchell voiced George's thought aloud as he began to take in the state of the two people before him. They were tired. They were shaken. Their world was shifting.

"Not you _too_."

"Yes…" Mitchell answered her. "Well… no." He sighed. "I dunno…"

"What do you mean you don't know?" George asked as he dropped the potatoes into the hot grease.

"I mean, I know… what's going on. I think, at least as well as the two of you. But… I don't know what comes next. Do you?"

The sound of the door caused all three of them to turn around. Annie walked in, latching it quietly behind her. Steady and stoic, as though she already knew what they had all been talking about, she made her way into the middle of the little group in the kitchen. She reached out for Mitchell, placing her hand on his cheek, as he brought his arm around her waist.

"Hey," she said with a sad, tired smile.

"Hey," he whispered back.

The other two gathered round Mitchell and Annie, embracing them warmly for the first time in what felt like ages. And, in all honesty, there was no telling exactly how long it _had_ been.

"Breakfast!" Annie sniffed through another wave of tears. "Tea and coffee, yeah?" she asked, pulling away from the group, feeling more comfortable doing something - taking care of her little family. George took cue from her and returned to the stove, flipping the now dark and crispy hash browns in the skillet.

That left Mitchell and Nina standing apart from their respective partners, facing one another in the crowded kitchen.

"Well..." Nina whispered nervously as she ran her hands through her tangled mass of blonde curls.

"I never meant..." Mitchell began, not knowing what to say to make his apology sound anywhere near adequate. He'd been right when he said that George had to be the one. That, he didn't doubt.

"Come on. Come out here," Nina said taking him by the elbow and leading him to the living room.

"I never should have befriended him. He never should have been in that position. Not just to do what he... But he shouldn't have had to compromise who he was. Not for anybody. Least of all me."

"I... know that," she said quietly. "The facts are... Well, there are a lot of things that all of us... none of us should have had to do. Plenty of things." She gulped hard as she rested her hands on her belly, looking over her shoulder at Annie, pouring steaming liquid into mugs. "And not all of that... can be blamed on you."

"Do you forgive me?" Mitchell stared out of the room's bay window, not wanting to hear her answer, unsure how either the positive or the negative would change anything.

"It's already forgiven."

* * *

"I can't believe it. The last time I saw you you were nearly twenty pounds heavier with the little one." Mitchell grinned as Nina walked past him on her way to the coffee urn.

"Not that fat, please!" she protested on her way back to her seat.

"Eve. What prompted that?"

George and Annie were silent at his question, as Nina sat and began cradling her still flat tummy protectively.

"I dunno," she answered. "I didn't choose it..." She trailed off speaking, staring into her mug of black coffee.

"After Nina..." George began, thickly. "Didn't come home from the shop... I couldn't... do it. I couldn't bring myself to think of... I'd just see it etched on a tiny grave marker. I left it too long."

"But, Eve is a beautiful name, George," Annie said warmly, patting his arm.

"She was the first of her kind. A human child born to werewolves."

"So, the question is," began Nina, taking George's hand into hers across the table. "What do we do now? I mean... I've not gotten another chance at having a child with the man I love only to die a week later."

"That's not going to happen!" Annie hurried to assure her. "I mean... things are different here, aren't they? It won't happen..."

"It won't happen the same way," Mitchell broke in. "But Nina is right. Everything that's happened to us in the past keeps coming back this time round. You and Owen," he gestured to Annie. "George and Nina and the baby." Nina nodded, tight lipped. "And my... struggle..."

Annie turned her head sharply to look at him as he said it. "You haven't slipped... Mitchell. Have you?"

"Annie..." He began.

"It wasn't his fault," George interrupted.

Nina got up from the table and stood at the back door looking out at the garden.

"What do you mean? Someone held him at gun point and said, 'Do these drugs or we'll shoot'cha'? Mitchell!" Annie exclaimed, turning to him. "You were so angry when Daisy brought drugs into your flat! I don't get it..."

"They spiked his drink!" George defended his friend, his voice rising in pitch.

"I got so angry because I knew it would be one more temptation to fight, don't ya see?" Mitchell explained at the same time.

Annie's head swiveled back and forth between her tenants... er, flat mates... whatever. "Spiked his...? Daisy!"

"It was Lauren... actually," Mitchell supplied quietly.

"Actually, it doesn't matter if we can't find a way to stop the past repeating itself. It doesn't matter how Mitchell falls off the wagon," Nina cast a look towards him as if to say, 'no offense'. He nodded cooly. "It doesn't matter who attacks me on the way home from the shop. It doesn't matter what Annie..." She trailed off awkwardly. "Any of it. We can't pretend we don't know what happens next."

"So we, what? Just wait for the inevitable?" George asked skeptically.

"Not if I can help it," Annie said with an air of determination. "There are people who knew more about this when we were on the other side - is that what we're even calling it?" They all shrugged at her. "Anyway. They knew more than I about what was going on in that world. They've passed over now. They must know something about what's going on here and now. Right?"

"That's if you can even find them, Annie. I mean, you and I both passed through that corridor. This is not purgatory," Mitchell tried to reason.

"Nor is it anything like anyone has ever told me of heaven. Things are supposed to happen as you like there," Nina agreed.

"I can find them, though. We found each other; and Lauren and Daisy found you, Mitchell."

"But what if ya don't, Annie? Who're ya even goin' lookin' for?"

"I have to try, Mitchell. For all of us."

* * *

"Gilbert?" He asked skeptically as he shrugged into his jacket, following Annie down the front steps.

"Yeah. He taught me things."

"Like what? How fun is a bourgeois concept? And eighties music... you hate eighties music."

"Gilbert is the one who taught me about doors." Annie plowed forward down the street, winding her scarf 'round her neck as she went.

"Yeah, okay. But nothing else, really. I mean," Mitchell softened his voice soothingly. "Sykes is the one with all the knowledge. Auras and shite. He taught ya how to defend yourself. Shouldn't we better be lookin' for him?"

"Sykes hadn't passed over last I heard of him." Annie continued walking along the street, single-minded, set on her goal.

"And how do you plan to locate Gilbert? The Former Supernatural's Newsletter? Take out an advert that says 'I once was a ghost but now I've a body; let's have tea'?"

"Don't!" Annie shouted. "You are in no position to judge." She picked up her pace, nearly jogging down the sidewalk now.

"Annie, where're ya goin'?" Mitchell shouted after her.

"The record store."

"Oh... yeah. That might work, actually."

They rounded the Main Street about ten minutes later, passing the cafe where they had had their first unofficial date, and continuing on a few blocks to the used record store, The Album Leaf. The store was crowded, even the local businesses having begun hosting the Black Friday sales.

Annie immediately began combing the aisles searching for her ghostly comrade. The crowds were making Mitchell nervous, his skin beginning to itch with the activity of the scores of humans milling about around him. It struck him suddenly that he had always avoided crowds in this world, even in the clubs, preferring to stay secluded in the darker shadows. He wondered what other vampiric traits he had carried over with him from his previous existence.

Self conscious now, Mitchell tore off his sunglasses as he made his way to the information counter with an idea. "Annie," he called to the crowd. Several patrons glanced up at his shout, but he had managed to capture her attention as well, and waved her closer to him. "Excuse me," he smiled at the girl behind the counter, barely beyond her teens and instantly taken with his suave, if somewhat distant, persona. "I'm looking for a bloke... tallish bloke with kind of a throwback look, fifties hair. Pale, dark, kind of British punk. Gilbert. Ring any bells, sweetheart?"

"He's always got the weekends off. Especially during the holidays. Too much business, he says..." She turned to mark a bin of cassettes to special price before continuing. "But I guess you can do that when you own the place. I can pass on a message if you like. He'll be back in on Tuesday."

"But that's four days away!" Annie exclaimed.

"Could you pass along my information, doll? I've got some rare bootlegs I think he'll be interested in. Collectors items and such, yeah?" Mitchell took the girls arm and jotted his cellular number on her wrist.

"Who should I tell him he's calling," the girl asked with a bright blush blooming in the apples of her cheeks. Annie stared, mortified.

"Name's John, darlin'."

"Sweetheart? Doll? Darling?" Annie spat out the series of pronouns as she followed Mitchell down the sidewalk, back towards the cafe.

"I needed to make an impression."

"Well... You certainly have done, haven't you? That girl is going to slip on her own puddle of drool as soon as she turns round."

"But she'll be turning round to call Gilbert. That's all I cared about. C'mon. I'll buy you a coffee," he said as they rounded into the little cafe.

"Tea."

"Right, tea," Mitchell answered dully as he scanned the room with his nervous eyes, looking for a spot removed from the main patronage of the eatery.

Nearly an hour later Mitchell's phone rang as Annie was returning to their table with more drinks.

"'Lo. This is him. Well, John Mitchell. I go by Mitchell."

Annie moved her chair closer to Mitchell so she might hear the other side of the conversation a bit better.

"We've met. Yeah. Well, ya will when ya see me again."

Despite nearly laying her head against Mitchell's shoulder in an attempt to drop eves, Annie was gleaning next to nothing from the man on the other end of the line.

"I'm aware that it's a holiday... But if you just... Trust me. You'll want to hear what I have for you."

"We'll?" Annie asked brusquely as he flipped his mobile closed. "He didn't remember you?" She cringed inwardly at the thought that her display of bravado in the little kitchen earlier had been pointless. Mitchell only cleared his throat, unable to meet the disappointment in her eyes. "He will know you when he sees you. And me." She nodded firmly.

"There's an office. Above his shop. One hour." Nervously, Mitchell shuffled through his pockets in search of a cigarette. Annie reached forward and captured his searching hand. They would wait. Together. One hour.


End file.
